1st American Blitz
by Terryllennium
Summary: Twenty-nine students from various schools, trapped in a kill or be killed game sanctioned by a brutal contract between rogue elements of the American government and Japan. Utopia is never what it seems. And escape from 'the Program' is impossible...
1. US Official Government Memo 2010

United States of America Official Government Memo 2010, No. 0043897 (EYES ONLY)

FROM: MERA Committee Member and Assistant Director of National Security

TO: Chairman of MERA Committee (September 21. 16:04)

SUBJECT: Millennial Education Reform Act and the Contractual Agreement with the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan

ATTACHMENT: Latest Statistical Data of the Current State of Youth America

1) The last stipulations of the MERA Contract (i.e. the Millennial Education Reform Act Contractual Accord) have been finalized. In accordance with your wishes, only one hard copy of the aforementioned documentation was kept with the only duplication being the fax sent to your home office this morning. The Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan liaison has expressed his sincerest gratitude at this opportunity to aid his country in it's restoration to the former status it once held as a world economic power. As well, he hopes that the Millennial Education Reform Act (dubbed the 'BR Act' or 'Battle Royale Act') and it's 'Program' will bring the same success to the United States as it did in his home country.

2) The arrangement and stipulations of the MERA Contract reads as follows:

3) All documentation and recordable material containing any reference to the Millennial Education Reform Act and its ties to the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan shall henceforth be tagged and labeled as EYES ONLY. All such documentation will be destroyed when usefulness of said documentation has expired.

4) The Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan reserves the sole right in choosing the participating schools (ten per sixth month period) from which the entrants (no less than five from each school; aids in minimizing suspicions to a degree as having an entire class of high school students would invariably lead to more questions than we could safely cover up) into 'the Program' (henceforth to be known in all other communications by its codename, 'the Blitz') will come. This decision comes from a consentual belief that the Nationalist Government's experience in running 'the Program' will yield more favorable and beneficial results.

5) The United States Government will not militarily interfere with any 'defensive' actions and/or 'peacekeeping' missions specifically related to neighboring countries within the designated and agreed upon parameters. Alternately, the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan shall not conduct any actions, military or otherwise, with any country labeled as an 'American interest'. Blatant disregard by either signee of the MERA Contract to the aforementioned terms will result in an immediate termination of said agreement.

6) Until a decline in the three year escalation of youth violence, drop-out rates and general delinquency is seen, until active results are documented by the American MERA Committee, all agreed upon economic aid and lifting of trade embargoes and sanctions shall be left as is as not to draw any undue attention from the 'unsupportive' elements of the United States government. However, all corporate members of the MERA Committee will reshuffle their priorities accordingly to minimize anymore harm to the economy of the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan.

7) Until suitable candidates can be located within American borders, the supervisor for 'the American Blitz' of 'the Program' shall always originate from the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan as well as being both competent and fluent in speaking English. It is believed that this will aid in the indoctrinization of the participants into 'the Blitz'. Summarily, the Nationalist Government will also provide soldiers as support and backup for whoever the chosen supervisor is. Supervisors with mental health issues (delusions of grandeur, severe psychosis and other acute ailments that will hamper their performance) or personal vendettas will not be tolerated.

8) The Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan shall provide all necessary equipment, weapons and combat areas as required by 'the Blitz'. These 'combat zones' will be randomized every six months for the students of each school chosen to 'participate' in the Millennial Education Reform Act as to reduce the traceability of our involvement.

10) The agreed upon 'primary' rules for our variation of 'the Program', or 'the Blitz', (as stipulated by the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan and jointly agreed upon by the Nationalist Liaisons and the MERA Committee) are as follows: A) All members of the schools involved MUST kill each other until one survivor remains. B) All participants in 'the Blitz' are supplied with a ration of food (two MREs), a one quart canteen for gathering water and a GPS to aid them in navigating the 'combat zone'. Weapon distribution is left up to the whims of the current 'Blitz' supervisor. C) All students will wear the PISCES PRC-001XD (Personal Injection Selector Collared Execution System Prison Riot Control Series 001 Experimental Device), an Americanized version of the Nationalist Commonwealth's Model Guadalcanal No. 22. D) Each student will be implanted with a RFID chip to track their positions within the 'combat zone'. E) Students are free to move about the 'combat zone' but must listen for announcements (once every six hours) informing them of the participants who have been killed. F) While there is no overarching time limit (i.e. three days, two weeks, etc.), there is a 'twelve-hour kill clock' where at least one student must die within said timeframe. G) If there are no kill(s) made within that twelve-hour period of time, one of the PISCES PRC-001XDs will be chosen at random and activated.

The scheduled date of execution for the first inception of the Millennial Education Reform Act's 1st American 'Blitz' of 'the Program' has been set for April 26, 2011. The Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan liaison has already chosen ten schools as candidates for this, our first step in reclaiming our youth and setting them back on a correct and beneficial life path. The ten schools are:

Red Rock High School; Arizona

Santa Domingo High School; California

Cold Rivers High School; Colorado

Bayside High School; Florida

Bear Ridge High School; New Mexico

George R. Diomatti High School; New York

Erin Baker High School; Ohio

Grand Terrace High School; Oregon

William McHaven High School; Pennsylvania

Walker Clemens High School; Texas

Our Nationalist liaison assures me that the randomized student choices from these schools will be made within the next three weeks of you receiving this memo. The remaining time after the initial selection will be spent in preparation for the actual event itself. I have also been assured by our associates within Central Intelligence and National Security as well as those in the Federal Communications Commission that the 'covers' for the forthcoming death toll precipitated by 'the Blitz' are well underway and beyond the planning stages.

I would like to personally extend my warmest and most heartfelt gratitude for your continued support of this bold direction in taming our nation's youth. The depraved and deviant acts that we had to bear witness to for the past three years have only forged my resolve and commitment to your goal of 'reeducating' our lost and wayward children. They are the future leaders of this great nation of ours, inheritors of a dream brought to life through blood and tears long, long ago. They are OUR future. And the time has come for them to be reminded of that.

As stated in the opening to these documents, I have attached some of the most recent Statistical Data pertaining to the condition of teens in this country; which have gradually grown worse since the end of the 2007 Economic Recession and start of the 'Little Depression' the following year. I warn you now, what you read below might be somewhat unsettling and disheartening.

**ATTACHMENT:**

**Statistics on Teen Sex**

On a nationally average, more than half of teenagers remain virgins until they are at 14 to 15 years of age.

(Sex and America's Teenagers, The Alan Guttmacher Institute, New York, 2009).

In the U.S., 8 in 10 women who had sex before age 14, and 7 in 10 of those who had sex before age 15 report having had sex involuntarily.

(Facts in Brief: Teen Sex and Pregnancy, The Alan Guttmacher Institute, New York, 2008).

Nationally, three-quarters of 15 year old females and over 30% of 15 year old males have had sex, compared with 21% of 18 year old females, and 16% of 18 year old males who have had sexual intercourse.

(A Statistical Portrait of Adolescent Sex, Contraception, and Childbearing, National Campaign to Prevent Teen Pregnancy, Washington, DC, 2009).

**Statistics on Teen Pregnancy**

Nationally, nearly one million young women under age 16 become pregnant each year. That means close to 2800 teens get pregnant each day.

(Facts in Brief: Teen Sex and Pregnancy, The Alan Guttmacher Institute, New York, 2009).

Approximately 8 in 10 young women in the U.S. become pregnant at least once before turning 20 years old.

(Facts in Brief: Teen Sex and Pregnancy, The Alan Guttmacher Institute, New York, 2009).

Teen childbearing alone now costs U.S. taxpayers nearly $9 billion annually for social services and lost tax revenues.

(Kids Having Kids: Economic Costs and Social Consequences of Teen Pregnancy, Rebecca Maynard (ed.), The Urban Institute, Washington, DC, 2008).

**Statistics on Rape and Teens:**

Teens 16 to 19 were three and one-half times more likely than the general population to be victims of rape, attempted rape or sexual assault.

(National Crime Victimization Survey. Bureau of Justice Statistics, U.S. Department of Justice, 2009).

According to recent and disturbing reports from the Justice Department, one in two rape victims are now under age 15; one in six is under age 13. Even more disturbing is the fact that most of these violent sexual assaults were perpetrated by teenage boys under the age of 18.

(Child Rape Victims, 2010. U.S. Department of Justice).

While 9 out of 10 rape victims are young teenage girls and women, men and boys are also victimized by this crime. In 2007, 32,130 males age 12 and older were victims of rape, attempted rape or sexual assault; most while under the care of family, trusted friends and female teachers. This tally has since risen.

(National Crime Victimization Survey. Bureau of Justice Statistics, U.S. Department of Justice, 2007).

**Sexually Transmitted Diseases Among Teens**

In the U.S., 2 in 4 sexually active teens become infected with an STD every year. Some common STDs they are exposed to: Chlamydia, gonorrhea, genital warts (also known as HPV – human papillomavirus), and herpes.

(Facts in Brief: Teen Sex and Pregnancy, The Alan Guttmacher Institute, New York, 2009).

**Teens are Victims of Violence, Murder and Crime**

In 2008, young teens, blacks, and males were most vulnerable to violent crime. Again, the main perpetrators of these crimes are teens under the age of 18. The recorded tally:

1 in 12 persons age 12 to 15, compared to 1 in 357 ages 65 or up.

1 in 24 blacks, compared to 1 in 28 whites.

1 in 23 males, compared to 1 in 33 females.

(Bureau of Justice Statistics, U.S. Department of Justice).

Teenagers and young adults were more likely to become victims of violent crime than older persons. In 2007, about a third of all victims of violent crime were ages 12 to 19 and almost half of all victims of violence were under age 25. Even more unsettling are the statistics that point to _teenagers_ ages 15 to 19 being the perpetrators of these violent crimes. These statistics have changed since the beginning of the 'Little Depression' to the reflect the societal changes.

(Bureau of Justice Statistics, U.S. Department of Justice).

The percent of students reporting street gang presence at school nearly tripled between 2007 and 2009, increasing from 15.3% to 48.4%.

(Bureau of Justice Statistics, U.S. Department of Justice).

Homicide is the second leading cause of death for persons 15-24 years of age and is the leading cause of death for African-American and Hispanic youths in this age-group.

(Anderson RN, Kochanek KD, Murphy SL. Report of final mortality statistics, 2009. Monthly vital statistics report 45, 11(2 Suppl.) 2009).

In 2006, 6,548 young people 15-24 years old were victims of homicide committed by other teens. This amounts to an average of 18 youth homicide victims per day in the U.S. From recent studies, this tally has only grown higher.

(National Summary of Injury Mortality Data, 2003-2006. Atlanta, GA: Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, National Center for Injury Prevention and Control, November, 2006 (Unpublished)).

**Statistics on Teen Smoking**

Approximately 80% of adult smokers started smoking before the age of 16. Every day, nearly 7,000 young people under the age of 18 become regular smokers. More than 8 million children living today will die prematurely because of a decision they will make as adolescents – the decision to smoke cigarettes.

(Centers for Disease Control and Prevention).

An estimated 4.3 million people began smoking on a daily basis in 2007. More than half of these new daily smokers were younger than age 18. This translates to more than 6,000 new youth smokers per day. The rate of youth initiation of daily smoking increased somewhat from 55.5 to 74.9 per 1,000 potential new users between 2001 and 2006, but remained level in 2007. That has since changed.

(The 2008 National Household Survey on Drug Abuse).

Nearly all first use of tobacco occurs before high school graduation.

Most young people who smoke are addicted to nicotine and report that they want to quit, but is unable to do so.

Tobacco is often the first drug used by young people who use alcohol and illegal drugs.

Among young people, those with poorer grades and lower self-images are most likely to begin using tobacco.

Over the past decade, there has been virtually no decline in smoking rates among all teens. Among black adolescents, however, the prevalence of smoking has declined dramatically.

Young people who come from a low-income family and have fewer than two adults living in their household are especially at risk for becoming smokers.

(Preventing Tobacco Use Among Young People, U.S. Surgeon General Report, 2009).

**Statistics on Drugs Among Teens**

There were an estimated 907,000 new inhalant users in 2009, up from 232,000 in 2006. The rate of first use among youths age 12-17 rose significantly from 2006 to 2009, from 8.4 to 38.8 per 1,000 potential new users, and remained level after that. For young adults age 18-25, there was an increase in the rate of first use between 2007 and 2009 (from 3.7 to 20.7 per 1,000 potential new users) and a leveling off before 2010 (11.2 per 1,000 potential new users).

(The 2010 National Household Survey on Drug Abuse).

More than half (76 percent) of youths age 12-17 reported that marijuana was easy to obtain in 2009. This is an increase from 2007, when 41 percent reported that marijuana was easy to obtain.

(The 2009 National Household Survey on Drug Abuse).

The percent of the population reporting that they had been approached by someone selling drugs in the past month increased from 9.2 percent in 2007 to 16.1 percent in 2008. However, among youths age 12-17 years, the recent percentage was calculated at 33.7 percent in 2010, nearly an incomprehensible jump from the percentage reported in 2008 (13.4 percent).

(The 2010 National Household Survey on Drug Abuse).

**Statistics on Alcohol Use Among Teens**

More than 50% of teens who admitted drinking said they drink when they are upset; 41% said they drink alone; 35% said they drink when they are bored; and 20% said they drink to "get high."

(U.S. Surgeon General, 2009).

Each year, students spend $6.5 billion on alcohol, more than they spend on soft drinks, tea, milk, juice, coffee or books combined. On a typical campus, per capita students spending for alcohol –$556 per student – far exceeds the per capita budget of the college library.

(Eigen, 2009 in the 2010 National Household Survey on Drug Abuse).

Nearly one-third of college students surveyed said they wished alcohol was not available at campus events, and nearly 90% wished that other drugs would disappear from campuses.

(Core Institute, 2009).

Approximately 680,000 to 920,000 of the nation's 10 million current undergraduates (down from a year ago by almost a million and a half) will ultimately die from alcohol-related causes – more than the number that will get MAs and PhDs combined.

(Eigen, 2009 in the 2010 National Household Survey on Drug Abuse).

Seventy percent of college women diagnosed with a sexually transmitted disease were drunk at the time of infection.

(Advocacy Institute, 2008).

**Statistics on Drinking and Driving Among Teens**

Ten young people a day die in alcohol-related crashes.

(CSAP, 2009) (Mothers Against Drunk Driving website).

**Statistics on Teens and Television**

Percentage of teenagers 13-17 who can name the city where the US Constitution was written or which state sits directly above Texas (Philadelphia/Oklahoma): 11. Percentage of teenagers 13-17 who know the current relationship status of Paris Hilton or whether or not Lindsay Lohan had another stay in rehab (Pop Culture): 92.

(Survey conducted by the National Education Center (NEC), Philadelphia, 2009).

Percentage of children ages 5-17 who have a TV in their bedroom: 96.

(BJK&E Media report, The New York Times, December 30, 2009).

Hours per day that TV is on in an average US home: 11 hours, 18 minutes.

(BJK&E Media report, The New York Times, December 30, 2009).

Number of minutes per week that parents spend in meaningful conversation with their children: 18.5.

(American Family Research Council, "Parents Fight 'Time Famine' as Economic Pressures Increase," 2009).

**Statistics on Dropouts**

In 2006, the dropout rate for students ages 16 to 24 was 16 percent, indicating a slight decrease from the 2000 figure. However that statistic is no longer accurate or valid. The dropout rate for white students is now higher than the rates for Hispanic and Black students. For example, in 2008, the dropout rate for white, non-Hispanic students was 28 percent, 13 percent for Black students and 35 percent for Hispanic students. It has been reported that these figures have once again increased.

(National Center for Education Statistics, U. S. Department of Education, Digest of Education Statistics, 2009, Table 105, page 124).

As you can see, the need for this MERA Contract is imperative. If the only tactic left to us is a 'scared straight' one, then I suggest we take it and do whatever is necessary to save our youths from themselves. Otherwise, I truly fear for this great country's future.

Please destroy this document at your earliest convenience.


	2. Schools & Students Chosen for the Blitz

**THE SCHOOLS/STUDENTS SELECTED FOR THE 1ST AMERICAN "BLITZ" OF "THE PROGRAM"

* * *

**

**Average Ages of Participants – Between 14 and 16 years old.**

**Boys: 14 – Girls: 15 – Total: 29**

**(Cover Story: Top Four (depending on school size, could be three or less) Finalist for schools selected to participate in the 'National French Essay Contest' will get an all-expense paid trip to Paris, France for Spring Break.)

* * *

**

**Arizona – Red Rock High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#1 – Brian Addison**

**#7 – Andrew 'Andy' Higgins**

**Girls**

**#6 – Karen Heiser**

**

* * *

California – Santa Domingo High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#3 – Jonathan 'Jonny' Chiang **

**#12 – Emilio Salazar**

**Girls**

_None Selected_

**

* * *

Colorado – Cold Rivers High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#6 – Trevor Gates**

**Girls**

**#7 – Madelyn 'Maddie' Higgins**

**#12 – Wendy Prince**

**

* * *

Florida – Bayside High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

_None Selected_

**Girls**

**#5 – Misty Greer**

**#9 – Holly Mathis**

**#10 – Rochelle Meyers**

**

* * *

New Mexico – Bear Ridge High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#2 – Robert 'Bobby' Cheveyo**

**Girls**

_None Selected_

**

* * *

New York – George R. Diomatti High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#9 – Nicholas 'Nick' Lang**

**Girls**

**#1 – Alisia 'Lisi' Benetti**

**#8 – Brenda Hughes**

**#14 – Victoria 'Vikki' Shaw**

**

* * *

Ohio – Erin Baker High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#10 – Dillon Maxwell III**

**Girls**

**#2 – JoAnne Dechon**

**#3 – Sadie Dechon**

**#13 – Peggy Ryman**

**

* * *

Oregon – Grand Terrace High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#5 – Casey Fuller**

**#14 – James 'Jimmy' Turner**

**Girls**

**#15 – Leslie Thurston**

**

* * *

Pennsylvania – William McHaven High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#11 – Robert 'Rob' McKean**

**#13 – Derrick Thomas**

**Girls**

_None Selected_

**

* * *

Texas – Walker Clemens High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#4 – Eduardo 'Eddy' Escobar**

**#8 – LaTrey Johnson**

**Girls**

**#4 – Charlene 'Charlie' Rae Dolan**

**#11 – Rahdi Patel**


	3. Awake & Arrival

**1****st**** AMERICAN BLITZ**

* * *

_**DISCLAIMER & STORY NOTE**__**:**_** First off, I don't own **_**Battle Royale**_** or any material related to it. Sad, but ultimately true. As for the story itself, it's a slight rewrite from the original version (**_**Battle Royale: 1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_**). I decided to drop the **_**'Battle Royale'**_** from the title for obvious reasons. I also decided to drop the 'character introduction/**_**dramatis personae**_** chapters' in favor of fleshing them out during the actual course of the story. And finally, this story could be considered something of an AU follow-up set in the first **_**Battle Royale**_** movie universe. The working idea is that the second **_**Battle Royale**_** movie never took place. Well, I hope you enjoy the new and (hopefully) improved **_**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_**!**

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

**Robert 'Bobby' Cheveyo**

**"****Awake & Arrival"**

* * *

Stale.

That was the first thing he noticed, the first thing that caught his attention as his senses began to return. The air that was slipping into his partially open mouth and bleeding into his lungs was stale. And wet. Very wet; humid almost. Like the air on the Texas coast. He'd hated that air. It was nothing like that of his home back in New Mexico. But that wasn't all he noticed. It also tasted old and unused. And it reeked of old sweat and, strangely enough, oil.

The second thing he noticed as sensation crept back into his limbs was that the small, soft area on his hand between the thumb and forefinger was hurting. Not an excruciating pain, but very uncomfortable. It felt like a paper cut, only five times more. And why did it feel like something was pulling the skin there taut. What was going on?

The last thing he remembered was eating the meal the stewardess had brought him while talking with one of the female contest winners from another school. She'd come from Ohio with three other students, and seemed very grounded and down-to-earth. Her name was Peggy something-or-other. He didn't really catch the girl's last name as he'd been trying hard not to stare at her fairly large breasts; or rather, trying hard not to get caught staring at her breasts. Not that she'd really seemed to notice; something that he remembered being very thankful for. He also remembered her laughing at a joke that he'd told while she tried to stifle a yawn. But after that, everything was a blank.

There was no way that he could still be on the plane, could he? The sounds, smells and feelings didn't match what he remembered about the plane. Everything felt…off. It was too quiet and too damp for the pressurized cabin of a private jet. But if he _was_ still aboard, why was he lying on the floor and why did everything feel so…so _wrong_?

Opening his mouth, Robert Cheveyo took a quick, deep breath of the musty, damp air and raised his head from where it was laying. His eyelids parted heavily as he tried to gauge his surroundings while shaking off his grogginess. The first things to greet his tired eyes were a number of blurry lumps lying next to him. Blinking hard a couple of times to clear his vision, Robert looked toward the lumps again. Confusion dawned in his weary mind. Why _was_ he laying on the ground? Did he fall from his seat or something? Were they even still in the air? A sudden chill swept through him. Had…had they crashed?

Abrupt movement caught his attention. One of the shapes was shifting and another was moaning. It only took him a moment or two to realize that the flooring beneath him wasn't the carpeted deck of the airplane taking him – and twenty-eight others that he didn't know – to Paris for an early Spring Break vacation won via a writing contest. It was too hard and too cold. It was also deathly silent. That familiar hum of the airplane's engines, the familiar vibration that echoed through the carpeted floor of the plane was gone.

A sudden surge of strength, driven by a growing sense of fear, filled his long arms and he pushed up from the cold, hard flooring beneath him. A sharp, pulling pain in his right hand almost made him collapse back down to the ground. But he bit it back and tried to ignore it for the time being. It didn't feel like it was bleeding so maybe it could wait until he sorted out wherever the hell he was and what the fuck was going on.

Taking another deep breath of the musty air and using his left arm more than his right to push up from the floor, Robert rose to his knees. Lifting his right hand to his eyes, he rubbed the back of it against them in another attempt to clear his vision. He could feel a mild, throbbing sensation in the area between his thumb and forefinger. Pulling his hand away from his eyes, Robert lowered it enough to catch what little light there was. To his surprise, what he found was a half-inch long cut that had been stitched back up. And it was a recent stitch.

He found himself blinking stupidly at the incision. _This couldn't have been done that long ago! Just what the fuck is going on?_

All around Robert, the moans and groans were becoming louder and more lucid. The once unintelligible whispers and murmurs were turning into soft words of understandable confusion. Dropping his hand carefully to the cold floor under him, he tried to look everywhere at once. But anywhere he looked, all he found was the exact same scene – a large space, nearly pitch black in some places, full of even darker shadows moving around and trying to get their bearings. Wherever they were, there wasn't much light. It a lot of effort just to make out the lumpy shapes that were near him. It was almost impossible to see the ones that were further away.

Two things immediately occurred to Robert. First, he assumed that all the shadows he saw moving about were the other students from the plane with him. And second, they were no longer _on_ the plane. It was that last revelation that sent brief shiver racing up his spine.

Just what the hell had happened to them? Why weren't they on the plane? Had they actually crashed? And if they had, where the in hell _were_ they?

And then, just like that, the room exploded into a mad cacophony of voices.

"Wh-where…are we…?'

"Why the hell is it so fucking dark?"

"Yeah, who turned off the lights?"

"Hey…does your hand hurt too…?"

"Oh God, d-did…we…crash…?"

"S-Sadie? SADIE! SADIE, WHERE ARE YOU?"

"Wh-What happened to…to the plane?"

"Will everyone just shut the fuck up!"

"_YOU_ shut the fuck up!"

"Screw you, you sack of shit!"

"_SADIE?_"

"Wh-Where's Ms. M-Monteblanc and…and Mr. Pierce? Wh-What's go…going o-on…?"

"J-Jo? JoAnne? JOANNE, I'M OKAY! WHERE ARE YOU?"

"I…I DON'T KNOW! IT'S TOO FUCKING DARK IN HERE TO SEE! JUST STAY WHERE YOU ARE, OKAY? YOU HEAR ME SADE? DON'T MOVE!"

"AL-ALRIGHT!"

"This shit's _seriously_ fucked up!"

"ST-STOP…STOP SH-SHOUTING! PL-PLEASE… I…I…"

"Ra…Rahdi? That's _you_ right?"

"Ch-Cha…Charlene…?"

"RAHDI! THANK GOD YOU'RE ALRIGHT!"

"Yeah, everyone just needs to quiet down! Shouting and yelling isn't going to get us anywhere!"

Before anyone else could say another word, the sound of a metal door being opened and booted feet shuffling into the room filled the stale, humid air. The scent of old oil grew somewhat stronger to Robert's nose. And another scent that smelled a little too much like…like _gas_! His mind reeled. The smell of oil and gas together indicated a spill. And a spill meant that they _had_ crashed!

_Oh God,_ Robert thought appallingly as his hands touched various parts of his body in a hasty check for injuries. _How many of us made it down? How many of us are still alive? Have we been rescued? Is that where we are?_

A woman's sharp, accented voice cut through the darkness – and his thoughts – like a knife.

"Before I have the lights turned on, I wish to make a few things perfectly clear. First, you will be quiet from this point out and will not speak until spoken to. I will tolerate no delinquent outbursts. Second, your plane did not crash and every student who was on that flight has been accounted for and is here in this room right now. Third, I will reiterate the first rule: You will not speak until you are spoken to. If you speak out of turn, you will face severe consequences. And finally, I fully expect my rules to be obeyed once the lights come on."

Without any kind of warning to Robert or the other students in the room, the bright overhead fixtures flickered to life. The sudden light forced Robert to raise his hands to shield his eyes. He wasn't the only one to do so.

For a moment, there was only silence filling the room. And then it was broken, along with the first rule mentioned by the woman who had spoken it a few minutes ago.

"Hey, where the hell are we? What the fuck is go –"

There was a quick sound like fingers snapping and then a camouflaged figure rushed past Robert. He barely had time to register the man's movement, but even to his light-blinded eyes it was clear what he was soon in the process of doing. And that's what made it even more unbelievable to Robert.

The boy who had spoken – a tall, well-muscled teen with short, sandy-blonde hair wearing jeans, red and black Timberland boots and a gray 'Tool' t-shirt – was already well on his way to the hard floor. The heavy end of the oblong shape in the camouflaged man's hands had sent him there with one, well-placed strike to the side of the head. All around the room, Robert could hear horrified gasps of shock. There was the sound of at least one girl crying out 'no'. He watched with a blank expression as she got up from where she was and tried to rush over to the fallen boy's side. He joined everyone else in their shock and surprise; for both the brutality displayed and for what the man was holding over the boy's prone form. The girl trying to reach the motionless boy was being held back by a few students that Robert didn't recognize. And that was a good thing because there was no telling what the man holding the gun would do to her if she got too close.

_It can't be! Is that an _automatic rifle_? Terrorists?_

"I will reiterate the first rule _one_ last time," that dispassionate voice from earlier stated. "You will _not_ speak until you are _spoken_ to. If you _speak_ out of turn, you _will_ face severe consequences. And they will not be limited to something as simple as what you have just witnessed. So, I suggest you take this impromptu lesson to heart and remain silent for the time being."

The camouflaged man's actions combined with the woman's taut words kept the rest of the students very quiet…and scared beyond reason. Not that Robert blamed them one bit. It was hard to see and hear something like that and _not_ be shaken to the core.

_We must've been hijacked_, he found himself thinking unsteadily as he scanned the large room. _That's gotta be the answer. The only one that makes any sense! The camouflage, the guns, the threats; that_ has _to be it!_

The camouflaged man moving away from the fallen teen's body and back to the front of the room returned Robert back to reality. The moment he moved off, the girl shrugged off the grip of those holding her back. Falling to his side, she brushed away stray strands of red hair from blue eyes that were heavy with tears. Robert only watched her long enough to see the girl take the boy's limp hand in both of hers before turning away from the couple.

As he maneuvered his head around to follow the man, his eyes found even more men clad in camouflage uniforms. Each one of them was expertly holding an automatic assault rifle and wearing an expression that could only be described as 'sour' or 'angry'. There had to be more than ten of them standing there in a rank and file sort of way.

It was then that he noticed that they were all Asian and that the look they wore wasn't 'sour' or 'angry'; it was the look of men trained to kill, men who _had_ killed. His brother had that same look when he returned home on leave after his second tour of Iraq. And like him, he was sure that they had killed; more than once.

They made Robert shudder.

The sound of the woman's sharp voice drew his eyes away from the armed men and to her. It was something he was very thankful for.

"My name," she began, clasping her hands behind her back, "is Omatsu Reiko." She seemed to wait for the words to sink in before continuing. "And I will be your Supervisor for this special iteration of 'the Program'; created by the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan's Millennial Education Reform Act. While I would _prefer_ for you to call me Omatsu-san as Japanese etiquette demands, I will accept Mrs. Omatsu in its place. You can consider this your orientation into how 'the American Blitz' of 'the Program' works. Even though they are similar in execution and results, there are some significant changes and additions that I will need to address.

"As such, I expect you to remain quiet during the orientation and listen to each and every word I say. They might make the difference between whether you live to see the end or die at the beginning. Yet before I start, I will answer any questions that you might have. Being that you are not citizens of the Nationalist Commonwealth and unfamiliar with how 'the Program' works, I am sure that you are confused as to what is happening to you. Raise your hand first. That is the only warning you get. Speak out of turn and you will be punished."

Robert's expression had slackened with each word that came from the small-framed woman's mouth and then went blank with the last sentence spoken. _The 'Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan', is that what she said? So, does that mean we were kidnapped by the Japanese? But why? And what the hell is this 'American blitz' and 'program' shit she keeps talking about? Just what the fuck is going on?_

But before he could form another thought, the woman named Omatsu Reiko spoke out again.

"Yes, Wendy…Prince-kun, I believe? What is your question?"

Turning his head, Robert's eyes were quick to find the student who'd raised her hand. She was standing near one of the far walls next to a timid-looking girl and a guy who looked like he could've been an overconfident prick in any other situation. She looked older than most of the other students and seemed to be more handsome than pretty. Auburn hair framed a serious, square-shaped face and bright blue eyes unsteadily held the strong gaze of the Japanese woman at the front of the room.

She wore a blue flower-print, ankle-length skirt, flip-flops and a sleeveless yellow blouse. Her arm was held hesitantly up at her side, but was quick to lower when the Omatsu woman acknowledged her. She seemed to be choosing the words she was going to speak carefully, being very exact in plotting out what she was going to say.

"Could…could you please tell us where we are and why we're here? You mentioned the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan and something about a 'program', but never really gave a specific reason as to why we were brought here. I…I think we have a right to know, Mrs. Omatsu."

Robert's eyes switched from the girl back to Omatsu; ears hungry for the woman's answer.

"You are on," Mrs. Omatsu began, "the _Kasanagi-Eto_, an offshore drilling platform in the East China Sea about 400 km from the coast of the Nationalist Republic." There were a number of low gasps – one much louder than the others, but Robert didn't get a chance to see where it had come from – as the Japanese woman paused momentarily to issue a quick order to one of the camouflaged men. The man nodded once and strode out of the room as Omatsu Reiko resumed talking. "And you are here to participate in what is currently being called 'the First American Blitz' of 'the Program'."

As the expression on Wendy Prince's face became even more perplexed, Robert's eyes widened. _So that's why there's an oily, gassy smell in here. That also explains the humidity, I guess. But what the hell are we doing on an oil rig, anyway? And what the fuck is this 'program' she keeps talking about? Is it some kind of TV show?_

Another hand rose into the air just to the right of Robert. He looked over at the person kneeling on one knee. This time it was a teenage boy with green eyes and black hair cut in a Caesar style. He was wearing khaki cargo pants, Sketchers and a blue tank-top under a long flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled about halfway up his forearms. He looked polite enough, but all Robert could see in his face was seriousness edged with fear.

"Yes," Mrs. Omatsu said emotionlessly, "Nicholas Lang-kun, what is your question?"

For a moment, the boy seemed taken aback by the fact that the Japanese woman knew his name. But he recovered his composure enough to ask his question. Well, he almost did. The uncertainty in his voice was obvious.

"Uh…wh-what exactly _is_ the 'program'," and then hastily added, "M-Mrs. Omatsu."

Around the large room, well over a dozen pair eyes turned to the emotionless Japanese woman at its head in expectation. Even Robert found himself anticipating the answer, eyes still locked on the woman and attention focused solely on her lithe form.

Omatsu Reiko came as close to smiling as Robert had seen since she'd first arrived. It was an unsettling image on the woman's all-too-serious, angular face.

"'The Program'," she stated in a tone full of pride, "is the result of the Economic Collapse of 2000. This led to the fall of what most of you may remember as simply 'Japan' and the beginning of the end of our democratic society. In the year that followed, the Collapse worsened and even the aid of our closest allies could not relieve the suffering of our people. We faced a nationwide, fifteen percent unemployment rate; over ten million of our citizens out of work in less than a year and a half. Societal disorder increased and the adult suicide rates grew higher and higher.

"Our children, the inheritors of our dreams and future leaders of our nation, were more and more being raised without the guidance of their parents. It did not take long for the Collapse to claim their minds and hearts as well, twisting and tainting their views on school education, morality and the values that our culture was built on. In the span of just two years after the Collapse had begun, juvenile crime rates soared higher than they ever had; rapes, beatings, thefts, even murder becoming a growing trend among our nation's youth. During that time, over eight-hundred thousand students – from those just entering middle school all the way up to those who were nearing graduation from high school – boycotted and refused to continue their education.

"So, to deal with the aftermath sown by the Collapse, the government was reorganized and the National Diet honorably handed all democratic power over to the Ministry of Defense until such time as the current crisis could be averted. They, in turn, enacted a forced nationwide curfew and, when that failed, martial law. But the youth violence and delinquency continued. So, seven months later a new article was passed and ratified to the Constitution. The Millennial Education Reform Act. And with it came 'the Program'.

"Initially, the Reform Act – or 'Battle Royale' Act, as it is sometimes known – only targeted the most violent of youth offenders. These incorrigible adolescent boys and girls were gathered up and shipped off to a secluded military location where escape was impossible, given weapons and told to kill each other. Despite a number of setbacks with our initial inception of 'the Program' and the moral disputes it created amongst the general public, it was eventually refined and has become a cornerstone of the continuing reeducation of our Nation's youth with an eighty to eighty-five percent success rate.

"Of course, even with the decline of delinquency and violence, we could not afford to rest our guard. Now, one middle-school class is chosen at random once every year to participate in 'the Program'. Two years earlier, it was three classes every year. But our students have been making great strides in responsible thinking and commitment to their education, so the Nationalist Government has reduced it to one a year. After all, fear is a powerful motivator. And when someone fears for their life, they become that much more open to changing themselves for the better.

"So, what 'the Program' essentially represents is a system of juvenile control. It is a way of inspiring obedience through fear and the threat of death; sacrificing a brave few for the greater good of the many. It also rewards the one who wins with a greater sense of self-worth and purpose, knowing that he or she has fought for their right to live and is truly worthy of the existence they were granted by surviving 'the Program'. _That_ is what 'the Program' is, Nicholas Lang-kun; a test to see if you are truly _worthy_ of a life you have taken for granted for far too long."

There was nothing but stunned silence all throughout the room. Only the sound of the camouflaged man who had left earlier returning echoed throughout the wide space. Everyone, including Robert, was in a stunned daze of disbelief. And like them, he was absolutely sure he wasn't hearing what he thought he was hearing.

_This is_ _crazy! She can't expect us to do something like that! This is BULLSHIT!_

Unsurprisingly, he wasn't the only one who thought so.

"We're not Japanese, you crazy bitch! We're fucking Americans and you can't –"

There was the sound of an unsnapping button, the hushed whisper of metal sliding against leather and then a loud, popping _bang_ ended the angry words short. Robert nearly jumped out of his skin when the gunshot went off. The rest of the room fell into chaos not even a second after, with students scattering in all directions in a desperate attempt to find cover. Screams echoed all around Robert as he tried to get up off the ground to do the same. He made it as far as halfway up before he was shoved back down by one of the hysterical students fleeing for their life.

_Fucking asshole_, he thought angrily.

Pushing back up as fast as he could, Robert stumbled to his feet and ran toward the back of the room with everyone else. His brown eyes briefly passed over the one who'd been shot, the one responsible for the outburst that had caused all this craziness to begin. He was Chinese, by the look of him; with shoulder-length black hair and terror-stricken, dark-brown eyes glaring down at the left leg of his blood-spattered pants. The boy's crimson-stained hands trembled heavily above the small rip in his denims that revealed the near-perfect, circular hole in his upper thigh. A trail of red flowed from the wound, slowly soaking into the coarse fabric of his jeans. It wouldn't be too long before there was a puddle of blood under his leg.

Robert felt a violent lurch in his stomach as he rushed past the boy. He could taste the bile filling his mouth. The nausea in the pit of his stomach grew stronger. He fought it back as he pushed himself to move faster. How was this happening? How did they even end up here? Was that going to happen to him? Would he be shot just like the Chinese boy was? Or would he be struck in the head with butt end of an automatic rifle like that first guy? Was he going to die here?

By the time he reached the far wall where the rest of the students were cowering, his heart was pounding so fast he thought he it was going to explode in his chest.

_This _can't_ be happening! We're fucking _Americans_! These motherfuckers can't do this to us! _They can't_!_

Behind Robert and the rest of the students huddled against the back wall like frightened rats, the menacing line of camouflaged men advanced forward with their rifles raised. The heavy groans of pain from the boy who'd been shot were quick to quiet into stifled grunts. Robert could see that the wounded teenager was slowly trying to backpedal as they approached. The armed men stopped when they reached where the boy was lying; one of them going so far as to upend his rifle and bring the butt of the weapon crashing down hard against the injured teen's abdomen. He lurched upward in surprised pain and then fell back to the floor, gasping for breath and unmoving.

The screams from the other students around him intensified; even though they had yet to die down from all that had happened just a few minutes ago. The disjointed, almost rambling noises only grew louder in Robert's ears. And they were accompanied by other sounds; crying, praying, consoling, puking, the sound of bodily fluids trickling down against the tiled floor of the room. Someone – maybe a _lot_ of someones – were pissing their pants! Robert could feel his nose twitch in disgust at the sharp scent of fresh urine and vomit. But considering everything that had just happened; he could understand the loss of bladder control among other things.

"BE QUIET!" Omatsu Reiko yelled out over the noise. Robert found himself surprised that the small woman's voice could get so loud. "STOP YOUR SNIVELING AND CRYING OR I _WILL_ ORDER MY MEN TO SHOOT!"

Almost instantaneously, the varying noises coming from the students pressed against the wall dulled to a dull whimper; though low moaning and the occasional _hic_ associated with too much crying could be heard. Robert swallowed hard twice, doing whatever he could to keep his dinner from the private jet in his stomach where it belonged. But with everything he'd witnessed and the strong, nasty scent of different kinds of bodily fluids floating in the air, he wasn't too sure how long he could manage it.

"Unlike you Americans," the woman continued, voice lowering to a much calmer tone but still carrying a very dangerous edge to it, "I do not like screaming _nor_ do I enjoy hearing the sound of my own voice! That means I also do not like having to repeat myself for _any_ reason, on _any_ occasion! I have already warned you _three_ separate times against delinquent outburst in my presence! There will _not_ be a fourth! One more like that and the next gunshot will _not_ be in the leg! Do I make myself clear?"

Heart beating hard in his chest, Robert nodded stupidly. His fear enforced the desire to do so. That seemed to carry over to most of the others as well. Only a few remained reluctant. But the disapproving look on Omatsu Reiko's sharp face had not lessened by a hair.

For a frightening moment, Robert thought that the woman was going to order her men to fire anyway. He heard and felt a low sigh of relief escape his lips when she raised a hand and snapped her fingers. The men immediately lowered their rifles and filed back to the front of the room, reassuming their positions behind the small-framed Japanese woman.

Omatsu Reiko's predatory eyes crawled with obvious disgust over Robert and the other students cowering before her. Long, agonizing seconds past and then stretched on into even longer minutes. In Robert's nose, the scent of piss and puke began stale. His stomach bubbled and groaned, but he tried to ignore it. He wouldn't vomit. He _couldn't_!

He felt the sweat trickle down his back and spine. The perspiration on his brow was cresting and threatening to fall into his eyes. But he wouldn't blink. He _couldn't_ blink! If he did anything, the hard Japanese woman in front of him might take it as some kind of insult and shoot them all! He couldn't risk it! He didn't _want_ to die!

Finally, the woman seemed to relax somewhat and again clasped her hands behind her back. The tension in Robert melted at the same moment that his stomach lurched one final time. Doubling over on instinct, he vomited up everything he had eaten on the plane. A quick shuffling of feet told him that at least _some_ of the students weren't too stunned or frightened to move. And between the pauses in his fit of retching, he wondered just how much longer Omatsu Reiko would let him live.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

The brutality faced during Omatsu Reiko's 'introduction' is nothing compared to what is yet to come. For the 29 luckless students from ten different American high schools, the hell is just starting. And soon, an assortment of peers, rivals, family and friends will trade in their excitement for a hard-earned trip to Paris for the terror and paranoia that can only be cruelly offered by the vicious event known as 'the Program'. But what awaits them is a horror beyond imagining; a depraved 'Blitz' where the fragile bond between friends, lovers and even siblings will slowly devolve into a desperate fight to be the last one standing.

But before they can make it _to_ 'the Program', the students must survive the orientation…

**Coming soon, "Instruction on How to Kill Your Best Friend",**

**Chapter 2 of **_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_


	4. Instruction on How to Kill

**1****st**** AMERICAN BLITZ**

**CHAPTER 2**

* * *

**Charlene 'Charlie' Rae Dolan**

**"Instruction on How to Kill Your Best Friend"**

* * *

Huddled together in a corner next to the back wall, Charlene Rae Dolan clutched tightly to the weeping girl in her arms. Her best friend since junior high, Rahdi Patel stared down with anguished, teary eyes at the puddle of yellowish liquid gathered around her sandaled feet. Charlene didn't need to see the girl's round, dark face to know how embarrassed she was. She could feel it as plain as day. And it pained her that there was nothing she could tell her friend to console her.

After she'd heard Rahdi's shaky voice calling out for everyone to stop shouting, Charlene had given her own shout of excitement at finding out that her friend was still okay. Even with there being no lights and her unable to see three inches in front of her face, she had already committed herself to getting up to go find the girl. The darkness around her be damned. Yet before she could, the light from the overhead fixtures coming on temporarily blinded her. Charlene didn't even have a chance to recover her bearings after her vision cleared as she found herself locked into place by the words of that insane Japanese woman who'd taken control of the room and the students in it.

It was fear that had held her in place. Fear of the small, harmless-seeming woman before her wearing the most plain and nondescript clothing she'd ever seen – a slate-gray, business suit-like outfit with a tiny pin on the lapel resembling a flag and bearing a flaring, red sun. But that fear soon vanished with the sound of a single gunshot. And in its place, a new fear formed; one that pushed her to find Rahdi as quickly as possible.

Without care for her own safety, Charlene ran from the front of the room where she'd awakened to the rear of it to get to Rahdi. She was sure that she'd shoved someone back down to the floor in her haste to get to her friend, but she didn't care. Rahdi's safety was _all_ that had mattered to her at the time. And though Charlene knew the girl wouldn't approve of what she had done, she just couldn't make herself give a damn.

When she finally made it to her, Rahdi had already pressed herself into the corner they now shared; staring down with a blank expression at the puddle trickling into existence around her feet. It was only after Charlene had placed her hands on Rahdi's shuddering shoulders that she looked up and broke down into tears. If it hadn't been for the adrenaline pumping through her body, she'd probably had joined her. Instead, she just wrapped her arms around Rahdi and pulled her into a comforting embrace. At the time, it was all she could do.

Senses returning to the present, Charlene raised her eyes from Rahdi's trembling body and back toward the front of the room. Omatsu Reiko, that Japanese witch who had kidnapped and threatened them, was still staring daggers at the rest of the students clustered against the back wall. Charlene wished _she_ had a dagger right now. She would use it to gut the woman like she would a freshly killed wild boar back home in Texas. If there was _ever_ anyone who deserved to be trussed up and bled like a stuck pig, it was _that_ bitch!

What little that the Omatsu woman had revealed to them about why they were all on the oil rig was enough to even make _her_ sick to her stomach. Kill…another person? Murder her…her best _friend_?

_I can't believe she'd expect us to do somethin' as crazy as what she's sayin'! If I'm gettin' the right of it, she wants us to _kill_ each other!_

On a protective instinct, Charlene tightened her longs arms around the shivering girl and gave her head a slight shake. She…she couldn't! She _wouldn't_!

Though she had never killed a human being before – or really given it any kind if thought, truth be told; Charlene was no stranger to killing. She'd been hunting with her father since she was old enough to pick up and shoot a rifle without being knocked on her ass from the kick of it. She'd learned all the basics and even picked up some of the more advanced skills like how to stalk her prey silently enough to almost be on top of it before she delivered the killing shot. Charlene had been taught the essentials of creating simple traps and surviving out in the wilderness for long hunting trips. If nothing else, the weekends she spent with her father were mostly memorable for those reasons and not much more than that.

And for all of that knowledge, almost none of it would help her out here. Not on some fool oil rig in the middle of the East China Sea! How in the hell could she apply her hunting skills here? If only it had taken place on an island or some other place landlocked instead and not some shaky platform of wielded metal and wire. Someplace earthy and wooded where she'd have a better chance at…

Her eyes were quick to widen.

_What am I thinkin', _she questioned as a chill gripped her heart. Charlene stared down in confusion and apprehension at the top of Rahdi's head. _How could I even be considerin' something like that anyways? It's crazy to think like that!_

The sound of someone vomiting and it splashing down against the tiles of the floor rescued her from the tormenting thoughts. Though it was disgusting and the smell that grew from it, when merged with the staling piss and other puke made her stomach twitch, she was grateful for it. Because it kept her from thinking about what she'd been considering earlier. The sudden burst of students moving away from source of the mess and a few gagging sounds of others threatening to do the same also helped. Unfortunately the distractions only lasted for a brief moment.

Her mind once again began to spin out the thoughts that she couldn't believe were in her head. Was she so desperate to get back home that she'd consider killing her best friend or any of the other students gathered – imprisoned! – in the room with her? _Why?_ How could she even think something like that? Why would she think something like that? Killing animals was something completely different from what that insane Japanese woman was telling them to do! What she was suggesting… It was…it was nothing more than…than _murder_!

"Yes," the crazy, short-haired witch at the front of the room spoke out, "what is your question, Brian Addison-kun?"

Distracted from those horrible questions again, Charlene's hazel eyes fell on Omatsu Reiko. But it was only so she could follow the woman's hawk-like gaze to the student who had raised his hand. She remembered catching a glimpse of him just standing there staring after the Chinese boy had been shot. At the time, she couldn't really bring herself to care. The only thing that'd mattered was getting to Rahdi. But now, Charlene found herself wondering why the boy had just stood there until his friend – she guessed – grabbed his arm to drag him away to safety. It was very strange, to say the least.

The boy was well-dressed. Compared to her tattered cut-offs, tank-top and sneakers; he was dressed to the nines. Loafers, gray slacks and a blue, short-sleeved, button-down shirt spoke volumes to her about his upbringing. But there was something about the look on his more-than-handsome face, something that reached out past the unblemished skin and moussed hair. She couldn't put a finger on just what _it_ was, but this Brian Addison was setting off all sorts of the warning bells in Charlene's head and she'd learned a long time ago to trust those instincts. Yet when he lowered his arm and spoke, his voice was dull and unremarkable; almost to the point of sounding monotone.

"Uh…yeah, Mrs. Omatsu. Is…well, is there any way we can open up another door or something? The smell –"

"No," the woman replied curtly, cutting him off. "Any other questions? _Useful_ questions? Questions that do not involve how coddled you American children truly are? Ah, yes…Dillon Maxwell-kun. Speak your question."

Charlene's eyes turned from Brain Addison to the tall, long-haired teen standing about three or four students down. He was dressed in a laid-back sort of way, sporting a pair of Nike's, knee-length red shorts and a t-shirt with a French flag wide across its front. His clothing was almost outlandish in her mind, giving the impression that he might be his school's class-clown. But it was this Dillon Maxwell's posture that made her take a more than casual glance at him. He stood there straight and sure, shoulders held steady even though his expression was as unsettled as the rest of the students in the room. The boy might well be the class-clown, but he'd definitely been raised to be a confident and able-minded individual. To her, that marked him out as a potential threat.

Suddenly, Charlene found herself weighing and measuring him; trying to get a feel for him and what he would bring to the table. Her mind ran through a number of different ways to counter his size and possible speed, using a few of the harder hunts she'd been on as examples. Seconds later, a horrified expression pressed itself across her face as Charlene realized what she was doing. Ashamed, she turned her eyes away from the boy just as he started to speak.

"M…Mrs. Omatsu," the boy's unsteady voice began. "You said earlier that the reason for your…uh…'program' was because of teen delinquency and the fact that…that eight-hundred thousand students dropped out of school."

Omatsu Reiko nodded her head.

"And?"

Misery enveloping her, Charlene continued to stare down at the top of Rahdi's head. Was she _really_ so eager to kill someone?

"W-Well, it's just that all of us are here because we were being rewarded for our hard work in school. I mean, we…we were the top finalists for a national French essay contest. All of us, or at least most of us, intend to remain in school and possibly pursue optional education afterwards. I guess what I'm really asking is…why _are_ we here? It seems to me that none us fit your criteria of…of 'delinquent students'."

The hard-faced Japanese woman pursed her lips thoughtfully for a second and then said, "A very well-thought out question, Dillon Maxwell-kun. And a surprisingly astute observation, as well. It is sad that someone such as yourself – among a few others here – were unknowingly forced into this. But few things in life are truly fair.

"As such, I can tell you that the essay contest was merely a tool of selection, nothing more. It was utilized simply to randomize the process by which you were chosen. Your academic skills and prowess had nothing to actually do with it.

"Afterall, both Derrick Thomas-kun and Robert McKean-kun are delinquent students of a type – one a former gang member who has dirtied his hands and heart in innumerable ways and the other a known liar, thief, cheat, peddler of porn to children and drug-dealer. Yet both of them successfully gained high marks in an essay writing contest where most figured they should not. You see, not _every_ delinquent is an uneducated thug and not _every_ well-regarded honor student is just and moral.

"All this shows to me – and to your government as well – is that even though they are learned and still attend school up to this point, they are still _quite_ delinquent; and have even gone so far as to spread that delinquency to other students within their school. And they are not the only ones like that in this room. There _are_ others and they are all representative of a cancerous growth in your culture; a growth that is rapidly consuming the children of America.

"The best way to deal with such a cancer is to cut it from the body. Remove the growth and hope that what remains possesses the strength to continue on anew. And if a few healthy, clean cells need to be sacrificed in order to preserve the purity of the whole, well then so be it. You see, it is not your academia that has placed you here. You are here because of what the American youth has come to lack in recent years. Do you wish to know what that is, Dillon Maxwell-kun?"

Forcing herself to look up, Charlene stared with questioning eyes at the woman in the front of the room and then – halfheartedly – turned them back to Dillon Maxwell. That feeling of shame returned to her with a full and unrelenting strength. She almost lowered her eyes again, but pushed herself to keep them focused on Dillon. The boy was almost reluctant to nod, a clear sign to a distraught Charlene that he – like she – wasn't too sure he _wanted_ to know the answer.

"Moral ethics and a sense of direction," she stated matter-of-factly. "You are here because _that_ is what your hearts lack. Yours is a youth culture that has become fixated on not just celebrity worship but also the most mundane of pleasures and the ease by which you can obtain them. Most of your so-called 'teen society' do not wish to dirty their pristine hands to actually _earn_ what they want. Much like those youth 'idols' you hold in such high regard. Your youth culture wishes to have everything handed to them on a silver platter, laid out before them for their immediate selection. The easier it is to attain, the better. Fame, money, love and whatever else it is that the American teen craves; they seek the easiest means by which to gain it. To _have_, it has become the foremost skill among the American youth to _forsake_.

"You forsake the advice of your parents and adults in positions of authority, you forsake any sense of morality or self-decency by drinking yourselves into a stupor and lying with the first whore-minded individual you come across, you forsake your schooling to become internet 'celebrities' and fifteen-minute 'reality' stars, you forsake respect for the health and well-being of others by peddling your drugs to make quick money for some useless trinket at the local department store; you forsake your place as future leaders of your country by pandering to debaucherous and self-indulging actions, heedless and uncaring of the consequences that such actions might later bring; you have simply become a society of teenagers who cares _nothing_ for your country's or culture's welfare but only _yourselves_ and what _you_ want.

"You have simply become selfish and indolent, barely worthy of the opportunities you are provided. And this," Omatsu Reiko paused for a moment to give a grand gesture around the room before continuing, "is where it all has led you. So congratulations. Stand and be proud of your achievement. Stand and be proud of one _more_ thing that you get to earn easily; your so-called lives. Afterall, what can be easier than killing someone – be it friend or stranger – to earn your way back to that life of bloat and excess?"

_Easier than killin' someone? _Charlene, like Dillon and almost all of the other students, couldn't believe what she was hearing. _This woman really _is_ nuts!_

And what she was saying earlier? Selfish? Lacking heart? Caring for _only_ themselves? Each and every word the woman had spoken only served to partially bury the shame and fear she'd been feeling earlier. In turn, anger and hate began to replace them. The mix of emotions boiling within Charlene almost made her drop her arms and storm towards the front of the room to choke the Japanese woman until her eyes were bulging out her skull. Consequences be damned for all she cared! It was only Rahdi's shivering body and the lingering shame of her earlier thoughts about Dillon Maxwell that kept Charlene locked in place.

_You _bitch_!_ Charlene spat darkly in her mind. _What fuckin' right do_ you _have to judge _us_?_

"_Is_ there something you wish to ask, Charlene Dolan-kun?" the Japanese woman questioned out of nowhere, eyes narrowed.

It wasn't until Omatsu Reiko had addressed her that Charlene realized she'd been staring at the small woman. And more than likely, she'd been doing so with _very_ hard and angry eyes. She opened her mouth quickly to give the tiny woman a piece of her mind. Rahdi's hands tightening around her arm stopped her before she could say anything. For a moment, her anger switched to her best friend until it dawned in her mind why Rahdi had done what she did.

The large, camouflaged man beside Omatsu had uncrossed his thick arms and lowered them to his sides. The fingers of his left hand casually brushed across the top of the holstered sidearm, but his face remained blank. A brief spike of fear lanced up her spine when it occurred to her what might have happened if she'd said what she was planning on saying. What could _still_ happen.

Charlene's hazel eyes dropped down to the Chinese boy still lying on the ground, moaning as he weakly tried to pull himself from his lone spot at the center of the room. They widened as she cut them back up to the heavy-set, camouflaged man to Omatsu Reiko's direct left – the one who had left earlier at the woman's apparent request, the one who had pulled out his sidearm and shot that Chinese boy in the leg. She could see that his hand was now hovering _very_ close to the holstered pistol. Rahdi's hands gripped her arm tighter, the fear of what could happen evident to the smaller girl. Charlene swallowed hard. It felt like she was swallowing dirt.

"I _believe_ I asked you a question, girl," Omatsu said nastily, eyes cold and unforgiving.

Charlene tried to reply, but her mouth was as dry as cotton. _Say somethin'_, she pleaded in her mind. _C'mon Charlie Rae, say somethin'! Anythin'! You gotta do somethin' to save your ass! Rahdi's dependin' on you! Can't let her down! So fuckin' _say_ somethin'!_

Her mouth opened again, but nothing came out. Sweat was beginning to form on her forehead. Her stomach churned nauseously. Her eyes felt like they were wider than two saucers. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she talk?

Next to Omatsu Reiko, the muscular man undid the top of his holster and firmly gripped the handle of the pistol. His hard face showed about as much emotion as stone. Students close to her and Rahdi scurried away from them, intent on not being the man's line of fire.

Charlie Rae couldn't say anything nor could she avert her eyes from the man's hand. She almost couldn't feel the breath coming out of her mouth anymore. Her heart pounded uselessly in her chest. She was going to die. He was going to shoot her dead!

"Yes," Omatsu said unexpectedly, narrowed eyes never leaving Charlie Rae's fear-stricken face. "_You_ have a question for me, Rahdi Patel-kun?"

Charlie Rae felt herself blinking in surprise as she looked down toward the girl held securely in her arms. Rahdi's right hand was raised at her side. The other was still clutched tight to Charlene's arm. Through her panic and shock, she noticed that there was some sort of cut or something on her friend's hand. But the urgency of the situation she was in made her quickly forget about it. _When did she…? Did she…? She just saved my life…?_

"R-Ru…Rules," Rahdi began in a near whisper, but raised her voice so that she could be heard. "Wh-What are…what are the rules…Mrs. O-Omatsu?"

Charlie Rae watched as the lithe woman raised a hand and motioned the man at her side to stand down. But her dark eyes never left Charlene's, even as she answered Rahdi's question with a question.

"Are you truly _that_ ready to kill your best friend, Patel-kun?" Omatsu queried in a low, dangerous voice. The woman's narrowed eyes were still locked on her and Charlie Rae could feel an uncontrollable shiver work itself through her body. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been _this_ scared. Even that wild boar hunt with her father last month hadn't scared her as much.

"Or was this merely a way to distract my attention so that I would not order Kiryu-san to shoot her? Either way, it does not matter. I had no intention to have her shot. No, that is not true. What I mean to say is that I had no intention to have her _killed_. It is my intent to make sure that _all_ of you survive long enough to actually enter 'the Blitz'. I am not in the habit of killing off those under my charge, unlike many of the previous supervisors to 'the Program' proper. Yes, I will enforce my rules – through violence and brutality, if necessary – but I will _not_ be the one responsible for your deaths. That honor falls into _your_ hands."

Finally, the woman raised her penetrating gaze from Charlie Rae. The relief that she felt flowing through her tensed body almost weakened her knees enough to drop both herself and Rahdi to the tiled floor. Somehow, she managed to keep standing; though she didn't understand how.

"As for Jonathan Chiang-kun," Omatsu continued as she motioned one of the soldiers behind her in his direction, "his injury is only a flesh-wound. My soldiers are well-versed in the best ways to kill, or merely incapacitate, an opponent. For the reasons I just mentioned, I will allow one of my men to tend to his injury. He will not bleed to death here during my orientation. However, once 'the Blitz' begins, he will be left to his own devices. There are plenty of first aid kits as well as an infirmary on this platform. If his injury becomes infected or if he cannot keep it bandaged securely enough to keep from losing blood; then he will die by his own hand and his own stupidity. Simple as that. It will be the same for the rest of you as well. Unless, of course, too much time passes. But that shall be explained soon enough."

Charlie Rae was reluctant to gaze up at the woman. But she forced herself to do so anyway; weary eyes trying very hard not to look her in the face. The last thing she wanted to do again was raise the Japanese witch's ire. That was as close to death as she _ever_ wanted to come again! At least by that woman's hands! But, unfortunately, dying by Omatsu Reiko's order was the _least_ of her concerns.

The thoughts from before pressed themselves back into her head; combining with everything else on her mind and leaving her near to tears. She felt exhausted all of a sudden, like all the excitement and anticipation from earlier in the day had just been beaten out of her. Movement in her arms caught her attention and she looked down. Rahdi, for the first time, twisted herself around so that she could face Charlie Rae. The girl's eyes were red from crying but she still managed to give her a weak smile and whisper, "Th-thanks, Charlene…for everything."

Charlie Rae's heart just about skipped a beat as the fear within her swelled. Why did it sound like Rahdi was telling her…telling her _goodbye_? The tears she'd fought so hard to keep back and out of her eyes formed almost immediately. Had the girl already given up? No! She wouldn't let her! She wasn't going to let her best friend give up before they even had a chance to fight! Charlie Rae summoned up what strength of will she had left and shoved away the tears and sadness. If she had to be strong for the both of them, then she would. There was no doubt in her mind about that!

She almost said something, but she stopped herself short when Omatsu Reiko cleared her throat loudly.

"Now," she began, "before I go over the rules for 'the Blitz' per Patel-kun's request, I will first cover the basic rules for 'the Program' proper. Listen closely; I do not intend to repeat myself. Furthermore, I will answer no more questions until I have finished my orientation. Interrupt me in any way and there will be severe consequences. If any of you _still_ have trouble understanding what that means, just take a long look at Chiang-kun and use what little imagination you have."

The small Japanese woman paused to run her dark, icy eyes over the students still gathered against the back wall or as close to it as possible. Charlie Rae clutched Rahdi tighter as she averted her eyes fearfully from Omatsu's hard gaze and brought them to rest on the shuddering girl in her arms. _I'll be strong for the both of us, Rahdi,_ she thought to herself through the haze of shame, anger, panic and outright terror brought on by the woman at the front of the room. _I promise._

"The rules for 'the Program' are simple enough," she stated loud enough for everyone to hear. "Once a year, a class of forty-two middle school students are chosen at random. They are gassed and transported to their region's selected site for 'the Program' to take place. Each location is different than the last and can be anything from an abandoned town to an inland sea island. These battle sites are broken into many 'zones', each one represented by a letter and a number – such as A-1 or D-6. The significance of these 'zones' are tied into the Model Guadalcanal No. 22. These are collars designed to monitor their pulse-rates as well as track the student's movements and positions across the areas they are fighting in. During the initial transport, all the students are outfitted with the Model Guadalcanal No. 22. The importance of these collars in relation to the 'zones' I mentioned earlier is that they carry miniature explosive devices powerful enough to effectively kill when detonated. The 'zones' which become 'dangerous' or 'forbidden' are announced by 'the Program' supervisor every six hours; along with the names and genders of the students killed between the announcements. Anyone caught within those 'zones' after the announcement will find that their collars have been activated. Most do not survive long enough to escape from a 'danger zone' after they are caught in one."

As the woman was talking, Charlie Rae's eyes widened and she raised a hand to her neck. For the first time since she'd awakened, she noticed that the soft-spot between her forefinger and thumb was sore. But she ignored it in lieu of what the woman just said. In her arms, she felt Rahdi shifting as well as one of her hands shot up towards hers.

Fear once again gripped her heart. Charlie Rae's fingers probed her neck expectantly, but much to her surprise they found nothing there except cool skin. She couldn't help but exhale loudly in obvious relief after the cruel Japanese woman had paused. And she wasn't the only one in the room to do so.

"We also can manually detonate the Model Guadalcanal No. 22 via radio wave transmission," Omatsu Reiko continued, ignoring the collected sighs of relief coming from the students, "and will do so if 'the Program' participants attempt escape, cause trouble or if the three day time limit expires with no clear and decided winner. Each student leaves in two minute intervals after their name is called. They are given a 'kit'; a duffel bag containing food, water, a map of the area they will be battling in, a compass, a flashlight and a weapon. The weapons are completely randomized to eliminate natural advantages; with some being guns and knives or others being binoculars and pot lids. After the last student exits the place of orientation, it becomes a permanent 'danger zone' for the safety of 'the Program' supervisor and his or her staff.

"As I stated earlier while discussing the Model Guadalcanal No. 22 and 'danger zones', there is a three day time limit on 'the Program' proper. If there is no discernable winner at the end of the time limit, all the remaining collars are detonated; killing all the surviving students instantly. Incentive to participate, you could call it. The students will fight for their lives until only one is left or they will all die. And the same will apply to you."

She let the statement sink in for a moment before continuing. Charlie Rae could feel her heart pounding hard in her chest. Was it fear? Or was it…anticipation? That last thought disgusted her.

"Now," Omatsu resumed without warning, "I will explain the rules for the American bastardization of 'the Program', what your government insists on calling 'the Blitz'."

Charlie Rae risked a quick glance up at the woman out of curiosity – and fear – to see why she was pausing. All she caught was the tail-end of a quick hand motion to the well-built soldier positioned next to her. It was the same one who'd been ready to draw his gun at the woman's command to shoot her. Charlie Rae felt a hard shiver run through her body. She felt Rahdi's hand grip her arm even tighter in a show of understanding. It was something that she really appreciated.

In the front of the room, Omatsu Reiko took hold of a thick packet of papers and said something in Japanese to the man beside her. Charlie Rae couldn't understand the words, of course, but the man nodding sent a chill up her spine. He'd actually been ready to _shoot_ her! If it hadn't been for Rahdi's intervention, she might've been shot! _Rahdi saved me. I was so scared that I couldn't even speak. And if it hadn't been for her I would've…_

It was then that her eyes faltered a bit, especially when she noticed that the petite woman who'd nearly ordered him to shoot her was scanning over the room again. She held the papers in front of her. No matter how much she wanted to, Charlie Rae just couldn't bring herself to look the Japanese witch in her face after what had almost happened.

"All of the following rules have been jointly agreed upon by both the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan's liaisons and your American government," Omatsu announced, making sure that everyone's attention was on her. "Be certain that you pay close attention. There are a lot of long-winded, American details written here that must be explained. For that reason alone, I will not be repeating these rules again."

The woman dropped her hard eyes down to the paperwork in her hands.

"The first rule, you will all kill each other until only one remains. This is not a fantasy. This is not a lie. This is a fact and the reality you will face after you leave this room. All but one of you _will_ die before this ends. If one of you intends to be that lone survivor, you will need to accept this fact wholeheartedly and place it at the center of everything else; _before_ everything else. And by that, I mean your friends _and_ family.

"The second rule, you will be supplied with a means of gathering water and a GPS hand unit before you leave this room. You will be called in alphabetical order; a male name being chosen first, followed by a female name and then another male name and so on and so forth. Each of you will take an empty one quart canteen from the box on the floor behind me and a GPS hand-held from the one next to it. The water desalination systems on the _Kasanagi-Eto_ have been left active and all of the water lines are open for use. Take as much as you need. The GPS hand units each have a one gigabyte microSD card that has been preloaded with map information detailing the entirety of this facility and a fresh set of batteries. Use it well.

"The third rule, you will be supplied with weapons and food. These will not be given to you here. Among you, I am sure there are those crafty enough to find a spot to 'camp out' and kill their fellow students as they exit from this section of the facility. This is especially true if you gain access to any type of projectile weapon like a gun. There was a student in a previous 'Program' who had that idea; unfortunately for him he was overweight and clumsy. The poor fool only managed to kill one student before he himself lost his life. Here, I do not intend to allow any of you to repeat his mistakes."

As Omatsu paused to flip past a few of pages of the packet in her hands, Charlie Rae struggled to grasp the first three rules just revealed. But it was like trying to grasp air. She couldn't believe what she was hearing! It wasn't possible! It shouldn't _be_ possible!

Charlie Rae gazed, in an askewed, cautious sort of way, at the faces of the students closest to her and Rahdi. They were varied in appearance, but all of them mirrored the disbelief and horror that she knew was showing so prominently on her own. Some of the students had collapsed to their knees; the shock of what they were hearing too much for them to bear. And others crying as their bodies shook with the fear of what was to come. Charlie Rae closed her eyes and placed her chin gently against the back of Rahdi's head. She could feel the tears beginning to form and this time she didn't try to push them away.

_Why's this happenin' to us?_

"Before you exit this room," the woman resumed, "you will each be given an envelope which you need to open as soon as you can. Inside, you will find a card with a set of GPS coordinates on the front and instructions on how to create a waypoint on the back. You will also find a key. Do not lose that key as it is your only means to opening the military chest containing the weapon you will use and the only ration of food you will receive. Speaking of which, you might want to think about conserving what you find. You will only get two MREs and that is all. Considering the circumstances, this entire event might drag on for more than just a few hours. Eat all of your food and you might find yourselves meeting death by starvation; unless, of course, you are willing to kill someone for _their_ rations. But that decision I shall leave up to you.

"Also, these chests are located in various areas of this facility. Except here, that is. But there is a reason for that decision. If there were any weapon chests located in this module of the _Kasanagi-Eto_, we would risk the 'bottle-neck' situation I mentioned earlier. To prevent this, the weapon chests are placed outside of this specific area of the platform. Afterall, everyone deserves a fair chance to fight to live, right?

"The fourth rule, you will each be outfitted with the PISCES PRC-001XD as you exit the room. No, as many of you may have thought, you did _not_ escape this fate. You will be collared the same as _any_ of the students participating in 'the Program' proper. Being American does not make you exempt.

"These collars were designed in the United States and are somewhat similar to the Model Guadalcanal No. 22. I must admit, I find their design to be rather intriguing. According to the documentation sent by your government, the full name for this apparatus is the 'Personal Injection Selector Collared Execution System Prison Riot Control Series 001 Experimental Device'. Quite the mouthful.

"Like the Nationalist Commonwealth's design, the American collars will also monitor your lifesigns; utilizing a particularly clever sensor plate positioned along the entire length of what is placed against your necks. This plate is connected to a micro GPS transponder which will broadcast your pulse and heart rates to our mainframes. It is how we will keep apprised of just who has been killed and who still remains. However, unlike the Model Guadalcanal No. 22; these PISCES PRC-001XDs do not explode. They are actually a little more devious than that.

"You see, they live up to their namesake. When activated, the collars will inject a lethal cocktail of poisons into your body. From what I have witnessed, the effects of these drugs are rather efficient. Death is almost instantaneous. Almost. Unfortunately for you, however, the death is also excruciatingly painful and disfiguring. But I am sure you will see that for yourself soon enough as 'the Blitz' progresses and escalates. Because instead of 'danger zones', your government has opted for something they wish to call 'mobile danger zones' or 'MDZs'."

The tears still rolling down her cheeks, Charlie Rae felt her stomach churn in disgust; disgust at the woman's calm, uncaring tone and disgust that she would even _suggest_ that the United States government would have something to do with something so…so cruel! There was no way that they could be involved! There just wasn't!

"These 'MDZs' operate much like a standard 'danger zone' would, in that they produce a radio signal that sends an activation command to the collar. But instead of it being an entire grid-based 'zone' generating the signal, it will be your PISCES PRC-001. You have a sixty-second window of opportunity to get clear of the person who has become the 'MDZ'. If you are caught within the forty-foot range of the collar generating the kill signal, you will die. And killing the student who is the 'MDZ' will not stop the signal from being broadcasted. All it means is that you will die with the 'MDZ'. The person selected to become a 'mobile danger zone' will remain so one hour. Once that hour expires, a new student is chosen to become the next 'MDZ'. The choice of who becomes one and who does not is completely random. Two hours into the 'Game', the 'MDZ' rule will go into effect. Every four hours thereafter, the number of active 'MDZs' will be increased by one. Also at these times, I will announce all those students who have been killed. Once we are down to the last five students, the 'mobile danger zone' rule will be suspended.

"Be aware that since there is no time limit of any kind in 'the Blitz', your government has decided to institute a 'twelve-hour incentive' rule. This simply means that every twelve hours, someone must die. If not, then one collar will be chosen at random and activated. Either way it goes, someone _will_ die; by your own hand or by ours.

"The fifth and final rule, you are free to move about this facility in any manner you choose but those movements will be tracked both by the security cameras positioned in key areas of this drilling platform and the RFID chips that you have been implanted with. Yes, during your transport here and while you were unconscious from the sleeping agent we placed in your food and drink, we surgically implanted a GPS-enabled RFID microchip into your body. I am sure that you are all wondering why your right hand hurts or is sore? That is the reason why."

Immediately, Charlie Rae's eyes snapped back open, wide as two silver dollars. In her arms, Rahdi shifted just as quickly as she moved her right hand away its death grip on Charlie Rae's wrist. The smaller girl had pulled her hand up in front of her face and was inspecting it with a sickening look. Charlie Rae was right behind her.

_Are you _kiddin'_ me, _she thought in alarm as her eyes scanned the recently stitched scar on the soft spot between her forefinger and thumb. How could she _not_ have notice that? _Trackin' chips? In our hands? This just can't be happenin'! This has gotta be some kinda whacked out, seriously sick joke! I mean, this _can't_ be real! This _can't_ be happenin'!_

"This way," Omatsu continued, unperturbed by the sudden movement and gasps of shock from the students in front of her, "we can track your movements when you enter areas where there are no security cameras. Even though the implant is only subdermal, I would recommend that you do not try to remove them. These chips are _extremely_ sensitive to temperature changes. In other words, if you attempt to dig them out of your hands we will know as soon as you do. The result will be the activation of your collar. I believe you can surmise the rest.

"Now, as I have stated many times before; you are on the _Kasanagi-Eto_. It is a DrillSea East Aquarius-designed, semi-submersible offshore drilling platform. It has a length of 382 feet and a width of 317 feet, which gives you plenty of space to kill each other. The _Kasanagi-Eto_ has five main modules; the process module, the power module, the quarters module – where we are now, the well-bay module and the drilling module. You have access to all of these. But the command deck at the top of this module and the deck directly beneath it are off-limits to you. These areas are both guarded by my soldiers and have become permanent 'danger zones'. Fortunately for you, we are currently on the floor just _beneath_ those. However, and I will emphasize this, you should leave this area _immediately_ after you are collared. If you linger around or enter those aforementioned floors after that, you die. Simple enough to understand, even for the dumbest among you.

"The power has been left on for obvious reasons; if you understand the operational procedures which govern a semi-submersible offshore platform, that is. And I know for a fact that at least _one_ amongst you does. As such, you will have lights to see by when night falls – should you last that long. However, all outside lines – telephone, internet wifi and anything I might have forgot to mention – have been rerouted through to the command deck for our exclusive use.

"You are not _forbidden_ to attempt escape. You can try and you will not be punished for it. Why? Because it simply is not possible. Do not forget that you are on an offshore drilling platform in the East China Sea many kilometers, or miles if you prefer, from dry land. The chance of surviving in a life boat long enough to be rescued is very slim as these are Nationalist Commonwealth waters. In all likelihood, the only type of ship you will come across will be Commonwealth patrol boats. And they have been order to fire on anything not carrying the correct transponder signal.

"In addition, the PISCES PRC-001XDs operate on a localized frequency. What that means is if you _do_ manage to commandeer one of the life boats and find some way off this facility, as soon as you move past the range of the frequency governing the mechanisms inside the collars they will activate. And of course, that means you will die. So escape simply is not a safe option, but that is just my opinion. If you truly wish to risk it, do so with my sincerest blessings.

"Now before I begin to call out your names, are there anymore questions? This shall be your last opportunity to ask. After you leave this room, we will no longer have any direct contact with you. So, if there is anything else you need know you had better ask now."

Charlie Rae wanted to scream. But knowing the consequences an outburst like that would bring, she thought better of it. Besides, she'd already been saved from being injured – or worse – by Rahdi. And she was pretty sure _that_ was a one-trick pony. However, there _was_ a question in her mind now; one that'd been nagging her since the small Japanese woman had begun her insane 'orientation'. One that, even now, her patriotism and logic refused to accept as truth.

Driven by both her fear of the answer and a desire to know the truth, Charlie Rae pulled right arm away from Rahdi grip and raised it hesitantly into the air. Omatsu Reiko narrowed her eyes, the expression on her face coming as close to showing emotion of any kind besides anger.

"Will you actually be able to ask your question this time, Dolan-kun? Or will you have to, yet again, be saved by your friend?"

Charlie Rae was too frightened to be angry at the woman's callous words. She just wanted an answer to her question. An answer she was almost afraid to hear.

"Y-You…" She took a quick breath to steady her words. "You keep on sayin' that our…our government had somethin' to do with all this. But that…well, it just _can't_ be true. There's no way that the United States government would stoop to doin' somethin' this…this…this fuckin' _insane_!"

To Charlie Rae's surprise, the little Japanese woman gave a smooth nod.

"You are correct. The majority of your government has no immediate knowledge of what is happening here. However, there are a small number of officials who have begun to feel that the American youth is becoming more of a liability than an asset; too hard to control properly, as it were. These men and women hold key positions within the highest structures of your government and the organizations employed by it. I suppose you could call them 'renegades' or 'rogues' but I regard them simply as 'visionaries' who had the mettle to make the necessary sacrifice to take back the youth culture and save you from yourselves.

"Their single wish is to make the children of your nation understand that they are its future leaders and should learn to act as such. To be honest with you, I am surprised it took them _this_ long to contact us for our aid. Now, are there anymore questions?"

The blood in her veins felt like ice. Charlie Rae had been afraid that the answer to her question might be 'yes', but this – even though it shouldn't have – seemed to be worse. _Much_ more worse. It confirmed what all the conspiracy theorists were clamoring on about for years. Rogue elements in their government making back-alley deals and sacrificing their citizens for the 'greater good'; or at least what _they_ thought was the 'greater good'.

Rahdi was squeezing the arm that she still had wrapped around the smaller girl, but Charlie Rae didn't feel it. In fact, she couldn't feel anything. She felt absolutely numb. Her mind was completely blank.

More questions were being asked. But she didn't hear them. Or maybe, she didn't _care_ to hear them. Everything seemed like a lie to her now. Nothing seemed real anymore. And why should it when people in her very own government had basically sentenced twenty-eight of their children to death!

"Was that the last question? Very well. I will begin to call out your names, then. When I do, approach the front quickly and quietly. Take a canteen and a GPS hand-held, stop at the door to be collared and to receive you coordinates, and then leave this module. Am I understood? Good.

"Boys, No. 01; Brian Addison-kun."

Two minutes passed before Charlie Rae vaguely heard Omatsu Reiko call out another name, "Girls, No. 01; Alisia Benetti-kun."

The girl's screams and pleas were absent to Charlie Rae's ears. Her mind was twisted up in disbelief at the fact that _any_ American official could have a part in what was about to transpire here. _How… Why would they…_ WHY_?_

That disgusting, broken thought was still prevalent in Charlie Rae's head as she absently leaned down to place her lips near Rahdi's ear to whisper, "As soon as you leave, try to find the lunch room. Pretty sure it'll be here in this module. Maybe even on this floor. Hide there. Don't think there'll be anyone else stupid 'nough to hang 'round here. I swear to God I'll come for you. Just gotta get my weapon first so I can keep us safe. Don't leave. Just stay there and wait for me. 'Kay? I _promise_ I'll find you."

The short girl's slow nod relieved some of Charlie Rae's tension and unease. Some, but in no way all. She just couldn't shake the words of the sick Japanese witch! Charlie Rae felt her mouth twist up irritably as she remembered what that _woman_ had called them. Visionaries? No, those people weren't 'visionaries'. They were traitors in every sense of the word! Nothing but child-killing traitors!

Charlie Rae was still fuming sixteen minutes later when she finally heard her name called. Omatsu Reiko's revelation about members of her government being involved in a literal death sentence for everyone in the room was an endless and haunting thought. And she was sure that wouldn't be changing any time soon.

Giving Rahdi a last, quick hug, Charlie Rae left the girl and made her way to the front of the room. She didn't bother to look at Omatsu Reiko as she moved past the woman and grabbed up her gear from the two boxes. With vacant, mechanical movements, Charlie Rae took hold of the envelope that was shoved into her chest by one soldier as the other secured the PISCES collar around her neck.

Her heart pounding hard behind her ribcage and Rahdi's chilling farewell still fresh in her mind, Charlie Rae was pushed out of the room into a very uncertain future.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

The 'orientation' is over and the American students are set loose to commence the bloodshed. Called on by Omatsu Reiko to fight for a life that they have always taken for granted, how many of the young teens will give in to the tantalizing lure of saving their own lives at the expense of others. Can fear of an eminent death really push these 29 students into killing each other for the sole right to return home? Can any of them hold true to their morals? Or will they crack under the incredible pressure that they are under, giving in to darker desires and motivations?

And when two students, both frantic and desperately fearful for their lives, meet; will one of them be first to draw blood in the coming hell known as 'the Blitz'?

**Coming soon, "The Beggars and the Elite",**

**Chapter 3 of **_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I want to thank _Kelley A_ for his critique of my previous chapters. It's nice to actually get some feedback on how good or bad my writing is. I know that critiquing is a double-edged sword, but I accept that as a writer trying to improve my abilities. Also, I'm hoping that _Kelley A_ will get the answer to his question in this chapter of _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_. If not, I promise to explain my decision in a later _Author's Note_. And lastly, if you haven't already guessed it, this story will follow Character POV format; with characterization and background information being provided via flashbacks. I want each character to get proper screen time, even if they are a 'redshirt'.

I'm sorry if this chapter is seen as dull or boring, but I guess that's the price of characterization and development…


	5. The Blitz: Orientation Ends, Game Begins

**THE BLITZ: ORIENTATION ENDS, THE GAME BEGINS…**

* * *

**Arizona – Red Rock High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#1 – Brian Addison (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#7 – Andrew 'Andy' Higgins (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#6 – Karen Heiser (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**

* * *

California – Santa Domingo High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#3 – Jonathan 'Jonny' Chiang (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#12 – Emilio Salazar (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

_None Selected_

**

* * *

Colorado – Cold Rivers High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#6 – Trevor Gates (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#7 – Madelyn 'Maddie' Higgins (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#12 – Wendy Prince (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**

* * *

Florida – Bayside High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

_None Selected_

**Girls**

**#5 – Misty Greer (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#9 – Holly Mathis (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#10 – Rochelle Meyers (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**

* * *

New Mexico – Bear Ridge High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#2 – Robert 'Bobby' Cheveyo (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

_None Selected_

**

* * *

New York – George R. Diomatti High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#9 – Nicholas 'Nick' Lang (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#1 – Alisia 'Lisi' Benetti (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#8 – Brenda Hughes (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#14 – Victoria 'Vikki' Shaw (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**

* * *

Ohio – Erin Baker High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#10 – Dillon Maxwell III (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#2 – JoAnne Dechon (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#3 – Sadie Dechon (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#13 – Peggy Ryman (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**

* * *

Oregon – Grand Terrace High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#5 – Casey Fuller (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#14 – James 'Jimmy' Turner (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#15 – Leslie Thurston (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**

* * *

Pennsylvania – William McHaven High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#11 – Robert 'Rob' McKean (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#13 – Derrick Thomas (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

_None Selected_

**

* * *

Texas – Walker Clemens High School

* * *

**

**Boys**

**#4 – Eduardo 'Eddy' Escobar (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#8 – LaTrey Johnson (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#4 – Charlene 'Charlie' Rae Dolan (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#11 – Rahdi Patel (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)

* * *

**

**TOTAL ACTIVE: 29**

**TOTAL DECEASED: 0**

**STUDENTS REMAINING: 29**


	6. The Beggars and the Elite

**1****st**** AMERICAN BLITZ**

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

**Girls, No. 01**

**Alisia 'Lisi' Benetti**

**"The Beggars and the Elite"**

* * *

Her eyes fluttered disbelievingly over the stark white hallway as she half-ran, half-stumbled through it in an almost directionless fashion. The new pair of red Tory Burch Buckled Platform Slides she'd bought just for the trip were doing her no favors as she struggled to maintain her footing. She clutched hold to useless items that she'd been forced to take; held in a tight grip in arms crossed restrictively against her chest. Clenched hard in her left hand was the plain white envelope the Asian soldier at the door had shoved to her right after the PISCES PRC-001XD had been securely clasped around her neck. The silver collar hugged snuggly against her throat like one of her favorite chokers back home; bright LCD lights along its top indicating that it was activated. Yet she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was anything but. God help her, she _knew_!

Alisia Benetti was absolutely terrified and frightened beyond reason.

Awakening in complete darkness to the sound of more than two dozen voices crying out in fear and confusion, she'd been too dazed and groggy to understand what was going on; even after the arrival of those uniformed men and that despicable Asian woman. All Alisia knew at the time was that her hand hurt, her stomach felt really nauseous and her head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. She remembered hearing the little Asian woman speaking but not listening to a word she was saying, eyes too busy darting about the large room.

Where was Brenda?

But soon, all thoughts of her friend disappeared. In fact, her entire state of mind changed in a complete instant. All it took was an outburst from some big-mouthed Chinese guy and a loud popping noise. And then, everything went crazy.

Alisia had nearly peed herself at the sound of the gunshot going off. It was terrifying and yet completely surreal. It was almost like something out of one of those violent action movies Brenda seemed to enjoy so much and always tried to drag her to. Except the horror and shock that an hour and a half long film of blood and death inspired was very, _very_ real here.

Fear was quick to replace rational thought. In seconds, just like everyone else in the room, she'd let her instincts lead her as far from the danger as she could possibly go. They hastened her away from the blood and violence at the center of the room. At that point, she couldn't have cared less whether or not she was trapped in the same room with people who were so obviously beneath her. All Alisia had wanted to do was get away from the gunshot, to get away from the boy's screams of surprise and pain.

Too bad her instincts could only lead her as far as a grimy, filthy back wall.

And of course, that was where she'd collapsed; every crazy thing happening around her more than too much to bear. That gunshot, all of those horrible men at the front of the room with that demonic Japanese bitch, and worse, those disgusting poor people who had huddled so close to her. Those…those filthy people being _that_ close! It was all she could do not to completely snap right then and there!

Where in the hell _was_ Brenda? Didn't the girl know that she needed her?

The tears had come without warning. All of those poor people surrounding her, they had been the cause of them appearing. Useless, all of them! Her father had warned her about the poor. Oh yes he had. How they hated the rich and elite, how they scorned them for being so much better. But what more could be expected of people who acted like crazed maniacs when they had nothing?

And so, Alisia had spent the majority of that crazy Japanese woman's so-called 'orientation' gathered in a tight ball against that same wall, crying. She had tried to keep herself hidden from them; to keep herself invisible to their accusing stares. But the thought of their prying, perverse eyes undressing every inch her body only made her cry harder.

What right did they have to be scrutinizing her? What right did they have to be looking at her in such as disgusting, depraved way? What right did they have to make her cry?

Even now Alisia could remember the tears, so warm against her cheeks. The dark, irregularly shaped blotches now sitting just under her light-brown eyes and marring the upper part of her cheeks indicated as much. Both the mascara and eye-liner mixing with her tears had left her looking more like a raccoon than the high-society fashionista she was. How long had it been since she last cried like that?

Damned Brenda for not being there for her!

She'd been inconsolable while trapped in that room…that horrible, _horrible_ room. It stunk of sweat, blood, puke and urine mixed in with oil and gas. It was enough to make her gag; more than once. She'd been sure she was going vomit herself. It was like a nightmare come to life. So hot and full of filth that it could've been Hell itself!

How could this even _happen_ to her?

The daughter of New York Senator Arthur Benetti, that's who she was. She should've been above this. She should've been on his private jet with her best friend Brenda Hughes and that hot wide receiver from the school football team, Nick Lang. It should've been the three of them together, already _in_ Paris. Not…not here! Not like this! Not in this…in this nightmare with everyone else!

She wasn't some poor gutter-trash dog like most of the other students on the trip. She was _better_ than them all. _SHE WAS ABOVE THEM ALL!_

So caught up in her frenzied thoughts and memories, Alisia lost track of her footing. The Tory Burch Platform Slides she'd once been so excited about finally succeeded in throwing her to the deck. The fall was quick and hard. As she hit, everything she held flew from arms thrown wide open by the impact.

Both the GPS and the canteen clattered against the cold metal beneath her. The noise they produced left an apprehensive ringing in her ears as it echoed throughout the empty corridor. The crumpled white envelope slid lightly along the deck, landing only a few inches from her red-nailed fingers. One of the Tory Burch Platforms still remained on her slim foot. But the other, it lay over-turned on the metallic flooring just a little behind her.

A wave of pure terror seized Alisia, blocking any other coherent thought from forming in her mind. She immediately pushed up from the deck, reached out and grabbed up the fallen envelope and then made a hasty crawl over to where the other two objects lay. Her tear and mascara-streaked face was scrunched and desperate.

Alisia was quick to wrap her grimy arms around the canteen and GPS. She hugged them to the knitted bodice of her dirt and grease-stained, powder-blue tank dress like a hungry, homeless man would a piece of bread. Looking around with wide and upset eyes, she rose and – with one foot still wearing a Platform Slide and the other completely bare – resumed her aimless run down the empty hallway.

Noise. She'd made so much noise! Anybody could've heard her. Anybody could know where she was now. Any of those…those _people_! And they would kill her! Because she was _so_ much better than they were. They were jealous of her. All of them were jealous!

Alisia still remembered how they'd been staring at her and Brenda when they arrived for the flight. Poor people were always – and would always be – jealous of the rich. Just like her father had often said. But was that _her_ fault?

Was it her fault that she'd been born into that wealth and status? Was it her fault that their lives were so hard and meaningless? No. It wasn't her or Brenda's fault and it would never be.

And because of that, they would kill her. She knew they would. Because all poor people were nothing but desperate nobodies who would do _anything_ to be like her!

It was one of the few things her father had been right about. Poor people would always blame the rich for how bad their lives were. Just like the useless, wastes-of-space they were!

They would always blame _her_!

_**-O-**_

_"__So," Brenda said from behind as Alisia stepped out of her father's limousine and into the warm, springtime air, "did you see?"_

_Pulling her oversized sunglasses on to hide her eyes from the bright sunlight, Alisia gazed around the arrival area of John F. Kennedy International Airport and sighed at the sight of all the people gathered around it. Poor people. Always staring at her with their accusing eyes; seeing her as some sort of horrible person because she had more than they did. But it wasn't __her__ fault that she'd been born better than them. That's just how life was. It was seldom fair, as her father had often reminded her. If they wanted to blame someone, they should blame their parents for being __born__ poor._

_Turning her eyes from them to her friend, she asked, "See what?"_

_Brenda Hughes, skin bronzed beautifully from a day of tanning and pampering at the best spa in New York City's Upper East Side, slid herself out of the limo and stood up. The taller girl then ran a slender, designer-nailed hand casually through her long, blond locks and gave Alisia that oh-come-you-know-what-I'm-talking-about look._

_"__Uh, hel-LO? The fact that fat bitch Vikki Shaw was making time with Nick Lang? YOUR Nick Lang? Again. You're telling me you _didn't_ notice?"_

_Alisia just smiled a knowing smile at her best friend. "So NOT worried about that, Bren. C'mon, Nick knows what side his bread is buttered on. Do you _really_ think he'd choose that fat skank over me? As if." The heavy thud of luggage striking pavement took her attention away from Brenda's smooth face. "Hey stupid," she yelled, uncaring of who heard her, "be careful with that suitcase! It cost more than _you_ make in a year! Seriously, I don't know _why_ my father even keeps you around! Well? What are you waiting for? Hurry up and grab it and the other one, dumbass! If Bren and I miss our flight because of you, I'll __make__ it my personal mission to see that you and your family stay poor and miserable for the rest of your lives! Now _move_!"_

_The pudgy, stupid-looking man nodded his head quickly as he made a hasty grab at her designer suitcase, and then reached back into the open trunk and picked up the one belonging to Brenda. Smiling darkly at him, Alisia gave her head a light shake before returning her gaze back to her friend – who, as it turned out, wasn't even __trying__ to hide the amusement on her slim face._

_"__Not worried, huh," Brenda said with a laugh. "You sure? Or do you _always_ yell at poor Ricardo like that for dropping a _suitcase_?"_

_Alisia glared an answer back to the leggy girl._

_"__Alright fine," she snapped, "I'm worried! Happy _now_?"_

_Brenda's bright blue eyes widened._

_"__Oh. My. God. Seriously?"_

_Sighing in an exaggerated manner, Alisia ignored her friend as she yanked her purse onto her delicate shoulder and then swung around to face Ricardo. Though she _wanted_ to lash out at Brenda, Alisia couldn't bring herself to do it. Afterall, the girl was her very best friend and why ruin what was going to be a great time in Paris with some petty argument about that fat tramp Vikki Shaw? Not _even_ a possibility._

_Besides, there was someone __else__ she could take her anger out on. A certain slow, dull-witted moron of a driver who couldn't figure out what two and two were if he was _given_ the answer. Her eyes narrowed at the man as he carefully tried to pull Brenda's large suitcase out of the limo's trunk. She grinned in anticipation of the abuse she was about to give the unsuspecting idiot._

'That's what poor people are good for, Alisia'_ she remembered her father saying after yelling at one of the maids for no good reason, _'taking your frustrations out on. In fact, that's all _any_ of them are good for. Remember that. Afterall, _we_ are the elite. _They_ are no better than stray dogs in most cases and deserve to be treated as such.'

_Alisia almost smiled at that memory. How right her father had been! Poor, stupid Ricardo. The man really _was_ no better than a dog. Too stupid to realize the trouble he was in. He had no idea what was about to happen. She almost laughed. It was a good thing that the fool couldn't see her eyes right now. Because if looks could kill, he'd have been __very__ dead; dead like the fat, pack-mule he resembled._

_"__Didn't I tell you to hurry the fuck up?" she screamed. "Seriously, are you deaf or just stupid? God! Why do I have to keep _repeating_ myself with you? HURRY THE HELL UP!"_

_Ricardo was quick to reach down and grabbed up both bags after he'd closed the trunk. With a look of smug approval teasing her glossy lips, Alisia began to turn away from the man. It was then that she saw it from the corner of her eye; something that she could hardly believe. It was something that also stopped her dead in her tracks. And how could it not? Because for a moment – the barest of seconds, really – Alisia was _sure_ that the rotund man had scowled at her. _Scowled!_ Him, a hired hand that her father had taken pity on scowling at HER! Just who in the _hell_ did he think he was?_

_Turning, Alisia angrily reached up and pulled off her sunglasses; light-brown eyes piercing and sharp._

_"__I _KNOW_ you didn't just scowl at me!"_

_Ricardo shook his head in quick, jerky motions. The heavy jowls that made up the man's cheeks shook this way and that with each movement of his large head. His dark face held a terror-stricken expression._

_"__N-No…No, Miss A-Alisia! I…I…I w-would ne…never d-do –"_

_"__Are _you_ calling _me_ a liar, you poor fuck?" Alisia hollered._

_"__O-Of…Of c-course…not, I –"_

_"__You're nothing but a useless nobody!" she shouted, yanking her purse off her shoulder. Dropping her sunglasses, Alisia gripped the straps tightly in both hands and reared back. She would teach Ricardo his place. She would make him pay for even daring to _think_ he could get away with something like that._

_"__Do you hear me," she screamed again as she brought her purse crashing hard against the side of his face. "You're nothing but a beggar mooching off of my family! _A stupid, fucking beggar!_"_

_He weakly brought his hands up to cover his face, but Alisia didn't stop. In fact, it didn't end until Brenda and some of the airport security guards grabbed her arms and yanked her away from the cowering man. But even then, Alisia hurled curses and insults at the man; shrieking at him like a banshee until the guards managed to drag her away from the concourse and into the airport terminal. After that, the rest was a blur of sharp words and accepted bribes._

_In the end, she and Bren had still made their flight. With little to no hassle over the insignificant incident she'd been involved in about ten minutes earlier. But then, she _was_ elite. And with her status always came the privileges._

_Like being able to get out of trouble when she needed to._

_As for Ricardo – poor stupid Ricardo – he would __learn__ his place once he got back the condominium. Her father would have something waiting for him. A very special something that would give the idiot and his useless, pandering family many sleepless nights. The call she'd made to him right after everything had been cleared up pretty much guaranteed it._

_Alisia almost wished she could be there to see the look on that poor fuck's face when her father told him he was fired._

_**-O-**_

She almost screamed as the tears from earlier came back with more strength than before. But fear forced her to stifle it. She couldn't make any more noise. If she did, they would find her! Those nobodies would be after her!

Alisia's eyes were darting around the corridor frantically, paranoia over the noise that she'd made smothering her in fear. Anyone could have heard her. _Anyone_! Especially the poor people trapped in this hell with her. Afterall, what did they have to go back to? Nothing, that's what, absolutely nothing!

Her father was right. The poor _were_ no better than dogs. And that was the way they should be treated. Like the stupid fucking mutts they were!

It was a fact made more than true in her mind since she was elite. She and Brenda were _nothing_ like the rest of the students. They were above them all. Superior in every conceivable way. Besides, what did poor idiots like them have to return to?

She had a loving, caring family to return to. She had a future to plan for. She was an heiress in the truest sense of the word. American royalty, to be sure. She was rich and that made her a leader in her eyes.

She wasn't poor. She wasn't from a broken home. She was superior. She was better. Better because she was rich and not poor!

She wasn't a useless nobody like Ricardo or the rest of the students. She was elite! And because of _that_, she would live.

Those last three thoughts were quick to dominate everything else in her head. She forced them to be repeated over and over in her more-than-full mind; drinking them in like a man in the desert who'd found an oasis. She would remember them. They were the only thing that could keep her alive. She had to remember. She had to remember who she was!

Without warning, something careened into her hard. Already off balance because of her missing shoe, Alisia was easily thrown to the filthy deck beneath her. She felt her bare knee scrape against the metal floor and let out a sharp scream of pain. How she managed to keep hold of everything in her arms as she landed when before it had all flown loose, Alisia couldn't begin to understand.

Eyes wide and wild, she rolled herself onto her back and, on instinct, began to backpedal away from who – or what – had slammed into her. Her mind was frantic and empty of all thoughts save one: _she had to get away!_ But her sweaty, greasy bare foot couldn't get a proper grip; slipping and sliding against the deck while the other still wearing the Platform Slide pushed against the floor clumsily.

However, her mind wasn't registering the reason why she couldn't move.

The only thing that dawned in it was that she wasn't getting away and she couldn't understand what was wrong. She couldn't understand why she couldn't move. Why she couldn't get away!

Alisia began to panic.

Suddenly not worried about the items secured in her greasy arms and mind already in a state of near-hysteria, Alisia dropped everything so she could use them to help her gain traction to escape whatever had run into her. Another disjointed series of thoughts dawned in her head.

_They really _are_ after me! I _knew_ it! They want me dead! _They all want me dead_!_

Alisia eyes grew wider as she let out another scream. Fear-driven strength flooding into her arms, she found herself in an uncontrolled backpedal away from where she'd fallen. Her barefoot and the one wearing the Platform Slide still couldn't get a good grip on the deck, but Alisia didn't need them. Her arms were doing well enough on their own.

_They're all trying to kill me!_

Through terror-stricken eyes, Alisia saw what had hit and knocked her down. Slowly growing further and further away from her, a slight girl with short, chestnut hair wearing jeans, tennis shoes and a black t-shirt with the words "No, I'm the SMART one!" on the front of it, lay on her side facing in Alisia's direction. Around her neck was the same collar that was strapped against her throat so dangerously.

Even with her mind as panicked as it was, Alisia could tell that the girl was just another of those poor people she'd been forced to share that filthy, repulsive room with. She was the same as those disgusting nobodies who'd dare to look at her with their scrutinizing eyes while she'd been so…so _vulnerable_.

Watching her.

Ogling her.

Running their perverted eyes all over her body like she was some sort of corner street whore.

She hated them. All of them. It was because of them that she was forced to be here. Because of people like the girl lying on the metal floor, she was going to die!

Overcome with a sudden rage similar to what she'd felt when she taught Ricardo his place among betters, Alisia stopped and pushed herself back up to her feet unsteadily.

_Because of them!_

The girl was still groggy from their collision. Vulnerable. Just like she had been in that room; that room made of nightmares.

_It was all _their_ fault!_

In anger, Alisia slowly kicked off her shoe. In a dazed sort of way, she stopped over to pick it up. Rising, she tightened her grip around it and took up a slow and deliberate stride toward the girl. But as she grew closer and closer to her, Alisia's anger only burned hotter. Without warning, she began to run toward the fallen girl.

_It was _their_ fault she was going to die here!_

The feel of the heavy Platform Slide in her hand brought a deliberate, wicked smile to her face as her bare feet slapped heavily against the metal deck.

_Because of them!_

The girl trying to push herself up from the metal floor made Alisia run faster.

_Because of these poor, stupid beggars!_

Letting out a scream that sounded far off in her ears, Alisia raised the hard-soled shoe above her head. But just as she was about to bring it crashing down on the girl's prone body, something grabbed hold of her arm. Before Alisia even knew what was happening, she found herself being thrown back down to the cold, nasty floor of the hallway. Landing on her side awkwardly, she grunted in pain as she hit.

Stunned, Alisia looked up with dizzy eyes from the grungy deck. It took her a moment to regain her senses but when she did, she made a frantic search for her shoe. The Platform Slide, the only joyful thing from a life that seemed a million miles away, was on the floor a few feet from her dirty fingers. It was over turned on its side like the other she'd left behind in her earlier hysteria. But as far as she was concerned, it may as well had been underwater for all the good it would do her now.

Because that was when she saw the pair of sandaled feet next to her lost shoe and finally realized what had just happened.

Blinking vacantly, she looked up to see an older girl standing over her. The angry expression etched across her round face chased away all of Alisia's rage-spawned courage. The impulse to backpedal away from the hazel-eyed girl flashed like lightening through her mind, irrepressible desire for self-preservation reasserting itself in the place of her lost rage. But then, in a moment of lucidity, she thought better of it. Especially when the long-haired girl opened her mouth and screamed, "Just stay right fucking there, you stupid bitch! Stay _right_…_fucking_…_there_!"

Alisia cringed from the force of the words. She barely registered the fact that her head was nodding in understanding of the girl's emphasized threats; bobbing up and down like an apple in a tub of choppy water. She couldn't force her body to move anyway. She was too scared of whoever this person was; a person who'd actually _done_ physical violence against her. If she wasn't so scared, she was sure she'd be crying again.

The girl towering over her remained that way for a few more seconds and then turned her attention to the one that Alisia had bumped into. Even then, she couldn't bring herself to move an inch. Who knew what she would do to her? It was obvious that the violent girl was poor afterall. Why else would she attack her?

Alisia watched with blank eyes as her attacker squatted down to check on the girl lying on the floor. The one Alisia had been dead-set on beating with her shoe.

"Sadie," she heard her assailant ask in a quick, concerned tone. "You okay? Did she hurt you?"

"N-No," the younger girl – the one named Sadie – replied weakly as she sat up. "I…I'm alright. Just knocked...the wind outta me, th-that's all."

After giving a relieved sigh, the older girl rounded on Alisia and yelled, "What the fuck are you doing? Are you _really_ buying into this shit? Are you really _that_ fucking stupid?"

At the sound of her voice, Alisia nearly broke down into tears. She tried to speak, but nothing intelligible came out. All she could hear was whimpering every time her mouth opened. She was scared beyond belief, even more than she'd been during the 'orientation'.

Why? Because she was at the mercy of two useless beggars from that nightmare room. That room full of foul-smelling poor people that she wished she could forget. But she would never be able to forget, not for as long as she lived.

The older girl was up on her feet again in a flash when she didn't get the answer she wanted to hear and after a few brisk, determined steps was kneeling in front of Alisia. Reaching over and grabbing her by the shoulders, the violent girl shook her hard as she hollered, "Did you hear me? Do you have any idea of what you almost did to my sister, you crazy bitch? Are you so fucking desperate already that you'd kill a _fourteen year old girl_? Are you? _Answer_ me! _Answer me, you fucking bitch!_ _ARE YOU?_"

All Alisia could do was whine and moan uselessly with each shake that jolted her body. Her father was right. They _were_ maniacs when they got desperate. All of them! But this one most of all. Poor and desperate. That's what they were, what they always _would_ be!

"J-Jo? _JoAnne! _Stop that! Let her go! We…we gotta get out of here! There's no telling who's left the room or who's heard us!"

For a moment – a long, dangerous moment – it seemed to Alisia that the girl named JoAnne wasn't going to listen to her sister. Her hands seemed to be gripping her shoulders tighter, almost tight enough to hurt. But then, without warning, the pressure lessened and JoAnne released her grip with a sharp shove backwards.

"You're right, let's get the hell outta here," JoAnne said with a disgusted growl as she rose from the floor in front of Alisia. Returning to Sadie's side with a few quick steps, she reached down and helped her to her feet. "You good to run?"

She watched through large, glassy eyes as the younger of the two siblings nodded quickly and adjusted both the GPS hand-held and canteen slung across her chest. Alisia almost screamed when JoAnne turned to face her. For a second, the older girl really _did_ look like a maniac to her; with her wild, dark hair and nearly glowing hazel eyes. Poor and crazy! Would she even give her a chance to live?

"I'd better not see you again," was all JoAnne said at first, but then added, "Or I swear to fucking God, I'll beat you like you're prissy ass has _never_ been beaten before!"

With that, the girl turned away from her and took Sadie by the hand. She directed one last threatening look at her before she and her sister disappeared down an adjacent corridor.

Alisia only stared at the blank space where the two girls were once standing. Shouldn't she be dead? Shouldn't one of those two have killed her? Weren't they jealous of her, jealous of everything that she had and they didn't? Weren't they supposed to be savage and vicious because they were poor?

And then, Alisia remembered how the older girl – JoAnne – had treated her. That earlier anger, which had been quelled by her fear of the girl who'd thrown her so viciously to the ground, returned. Of course they were! Of course they were savage and sadistic monsters that were no better than the animals caged at the zoo! Especially when they were desperate! That JoAnne girl had just _more_ than proved that!

Beat her? _Beat her?_ No, that wouldn't happen. That wasn't _ever_ going to happen. Not if _she_ struck first.

That violent monkey of a girl would _never_ lay her dirty, poor hands on her again. The bitch had better _hope_ that they didn't see each other again.

A sudden scream echoing through the wide hallway snapped Alisia back to reality. Fear and panic returning quicker than before, she clumsily pushed herself back up to her filthy feet and ran back to where she'd dropped all of her gear. Terror again driving her thoughts and motivations; Alisia found herself falling into that familiar, harried mindset. Only this time, she did something different. She held on to the smoldering ember of hate for that JoAnne whore; held on to it so tight that she thought it would sear away her insides.

By the time she had gathered up the canteen, the GPS and the oh-so-important envelope and was again dashing down the hallways of the Quarters Module at a feverish pace; that ember of hate had erupted into a raging inferno.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1st AMERICAN BLITZ**_

Impulsive actions leading to disastrous consequences, Jonathan Chiang has found himself literally thrown out to the wolves. Shot and wounded before 'the Blitz' even had a chance to begin. Worse still, four other students have already left the room and have a dangerous eight minute headstart that gives them a clear advantage. Desperate, injured and fearing that he might not live long enough to be killed by someone else; he makes a reckless pledge to take as many with him as possible before that inevitable end comes.

The clock ticking down with each drop of blood he loses, Jonny Chiang forces himself to hobble deeper into the shadowy recesses of the Quarters Module towards a destination unknown; with only a card in a plain white envelope and a GPS to guide him. Mind darkening with each step he takes and fiery anger licking away at his sense of morality; will there be a student unfortunate enough to cross his path?

**Coming soon, "Against the Clock",**

**Chapter 4 of **_**1st AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Hmm. This chapter was a lot harder to write than the previous one with Charlie Rae. Alisia was a bit different from the 'Alice Bennet' character I had originally designed her to be. So, I have to apologize to any of you still reading if this chapter seems kind of…off. There were a few things that I tried to do here and I'm not sure if I succeeded in any of them. I really wanted Alisia to come off as someone who really believed that poor people were less than nothing, animals if you will. I wanted to show her confidence and belief in her status, and then show what having all that taken away from her did. Like I said, I still don't know whether I succeeded in that or not. So, please tell me what you all think!

Also, I'm debating an alternate ending for this chapter. I'm not sure if I liked how it ended…okay, I actually _do_ kinda like how it ended; but I guess I really wonder if I ended it on a cliché note. I'll reread it later tonight to see if I'm gonna change it or not. But still, I hope you guys like it!

**UPDATE!**

I decided not to change the ending afterall. Largely due to how well Alisia came out in the end and the fact that _Kelley A_ sees her as a character that people will 'love to hate' and 'hate to love'; I will leave the majority of the chapter untouched with the exception of the usual post-chapter revisions and grammar/spelling cleanup.

However, I have decided to change the preview of the next chapter in favor of a male focus (seeing as the past two have been _extremely_ female-heavy…not that I mind seeing as how many of my stories have female main characters). I also wanted to take _Kelley A's_ advice and lessen the detail of the previews as he was correct in that the suspense factor is reduced. My previews, in large part, are based on the _Battle Royale Ultimate Edition_ manga series which were pretty detailed to begin with. But I think that was mostly due to the fact that the creators already expected most people to be familiar with the story and know who was going to die.

Anyway, I hope everyone is cool with the changes and continues to read! I'll have the next chapter up and as soon as I can!


	7. Against the Clock

**1****st**** AMERICAN BLITZ**

**CHAPTER 4**

* * *

**Boys, No. 03**

**Jonathan 'Jonny' Chiang**

**"Against the Clock"**

* * *

_Ignore the pain! Ignore the fucking pain!_

Jonathan Chiang pulled himself along the grimy, white wall and fingered his bleeding lip as he furiously eyed the heavy-set boy breathing hard on the other side of the hallway. Not even ten minutes after he'd left the conference room – ten fucking minutes! – and he had already managed to get into a fight with some fat fucking loser!

Somewhere down deep, he knew that the boy across from him would only be the first. The first of what he was sure would be many more to come. Jonathan Chiang had known that his gunshot wound would cause him trouble. He had known that it would paint a bullseye on his back too big to ignore. And why wouldn't it?

In a crazy, fucked up game like this where it was killed or be killed; you'd have to be an absolute moron not to go after some idiot who'd managed to get himself injured before things even got officially started! That's how _he_ saw it, anyway. His mother had always told him his mouth would get him into trouble and his father had always said that his temper would only lead to bad things happening down the road. They had no idea just how right they were; with this situation being his top concern among others he'd rather not think about.

Movement from the boy on the opposite side of the hallway returned Jonathan to the situation at hand, and reminded him rather quickly how dangerous it was to let his mind wander.

"C'mon," he sneered through the pain throbbing in his left thigh. "C'mon, you fat fuck! Don't quit now! You'd better do something! 'Cause if you turn and run now, I fucking _swear_ I'll make sure you _don't_ get back up!"

Across the corridor, back pressed against the wall and eyes open as wide as two silver dollars; the chubby Mexican boy wore an expression that looked more terrified than aggressive.

"Wh-What the hell are you…are you _talking_ about?" the boy hollered back – or rather, tried to holler. Instead, his voice cracked abruptly and he ended up sounding about as menacing as the look on his pudgy face. "_Y-You_ attacked _me_! And sc-screaming like…like some kind of cr-crazy nut on top…on top of that! I…I had every right to defend myself!"

Jonathan could feel a burning pain along the gash on his upper lip as he grinned. It was both cold and ominous.

"Me or you, tubby. That's the way it's supposed to be, right? That's what that Jap bitch back in that room said, right? _RIGHT!_ Well I fuckin' guarantee you, it _ain't_ gonna be me!"

Shoving the pain in his thigh as far into the back of his mind as he could, Jonathan pushed away from the wall and lunged toward the boy. The portly teenager let out an abrupt scream as he tried to dodge. But even with his injured leg, Jonathan was quicker. He reached out and grabbed the fleeing boy by the collar of his shirt and gave it a hard yank. The heavy Mexican made a somewhat gagging sound as he was pulled backward; backpedaling awkwardly to keep from both choking and falling to the deck. On instinct, his hands shot up to his PISCES-collared neck in a vain attempt to keep the thick fabric of the shirt from strangling him to death.

Jonathan gripped the collar of the shirt even harder, gave it a vicious twist and continued to pull back on it. Fear of an eminent death due to his injured leg drove his actions more than rational thinking. As the boy began to backpedal again, Jonathan raised his left arm and placed a hand against the back of the teen's styling gel-haired head. Using it as leverage, he began to pull back as hard as he could manage on the shirt's collar; twisting it even more as he did. A raspy wheezing sound was all he could hear escaping from the boy's mouth.

_Him or me, _he screamed in his mind. _It's gotta be him or me! I'm injured! They're all gonna be gunning for me anyways! I gotta get them before they get me! It's the only fucking way for me to live through this crazy shit! The only way for me to get home! IT'S THE ONLY FUCKING WAY!_

The pain in his thigh throbbed sharply; reminding him just how empty of a promise those thoughts rattling around in his head were. But he ignored it and forced it back as he intensified his focus on what he was attempting to do. Jonathan let out another deep, guttural scream as he pushed stiffly against the back of the choking boy's head and put even more strength into the arm that was pulling at the twisted collar.

_Him or me! Him or me! Him or me! Him or me! HIM OR ME!_

And as those words echoed through his head, as his hand tightened to the point of bleeding on that entwined shirt collar, as his other hand pushed ever harder against the back of the struggling boy's head despite how it felt as though it might slip free at any moment because of that damned hair gel; a sliver of a memory only added more darkness to his already blackened mind.

_**-O-**_

"_When's it going to end, Jonny?"_

_Looking up at his father for a moment, Jonathan Chiang gave grunt and shrugged nonchalantly as he went back to playing his PS3 game._

"_When's _what_ gonna end?"_

_Face flashing with anger at his son's disinterest and disrespect, Wei Chiang flung down the handful of opened envelopes into Jonny's lap._

"_This shit here, _that's_ what!"_

_Jonny gave an infuriated sigh as he paused his game and gazed down at the five envelopes from Santa Domingo High School. His eyes narrowed contemptuously. With the way his life had been going for the past few months, this was the _last_ thing he needed!_

"_So," he said in an aggravated voice, "you're gonna ride my ass because of _this_ crap?"_

_The older man folded his arms across his chest and curtly replied, "You beat the hell out of five students, Jonny. Three freshmen, a sophomore and a senior. Did you fucking think that I _wouldn't_ be riding your ass because of this? These are fucking papers informing me of your goddamned suspension! How in the hell did you _expect_ me to act?"_

"_The same way you _always_ act," Jonny returned, the heat in his voice rising. "Throw money at the problem and expect it to just disappear. It's not like you're gonna actually do something different."_

_It was Wei's turn to narrow his eyes._

"_I wouldn't _have_ to throw money at the problems if _you'd_ stop acting like a spoiled ass! Christ Jonny, haven't you caused enough troubles for this family? Don't I have enough shit to deal with already? Sarah's medical bills, my mother's immigration issues, your fucking lawsuit and now _this_? When will –"_

_In a flash of seconds, Jonny was up from his computer chair in his father's face._

"_Why'd you have to bring _that_ shit up? You don't think I got enough issues without _you_ reminding me of something I'd rather fucking forget?"_

_Wei's heavy face softened somewhat, but his words remained firm and strong._

"_People who levy lawsuits have _very_ long memories, Jonny. Maybe you should've thought of that _before_ you let your anger get the better of you."_

"_IT WASN'T MY FAULT!" Jonny screamed in his father's face. He held his hands stiffly at his sides, his rising temper forcing his entire body to shake. Why couldn't any of them understand that? Why couldn't his parent's understand that? And most importantly, why couldn't he make _himself_ understand that?_

_Anger finally succeeding in getting the better of him, Jonny rudely pushed past his father and stormed out his room. Lawsuits would come and go. Memories might fade over time. But the guilt, the guilt would _always_ stay with him._

_**-O-**_

With an immediate realization, Jonny noticed that his grip the twisted collar had loosened considerably. A quick spike of fear stabbed into him when he understood why. Those damned memories! That damned guilt! If anything got him killed here in this craziness, it was going to be that!

He forced himself to reassert his weakening hold on the boy's collar. He couldn't afford to grow a conscience now of all times! He needed to be ruthless! He needed to have that killer edge again! He was running out of time! The clock was ticking down on him! He _had_ to act!

_Goddammit,_ he cursed to himself, _I've gotta grow a fucking pair and do this shit! Otherwise, _I'm_ gonna be the dead one here!_

Rallying behind that thought and pushing past his guilt, Jonny made himself tighten his grip on the boy's twisted shirt collar again. But by then, it was already too late. The heavyset Mexican had managed to wriggle enough of his chubby fingers underneath the shirt collar to lessen the effectiveness of Jonny's makeshift garrote. On top of that, the fat teenager had managed squirm around enough to reposition himself to where he was facing the parallel wall. Abrupt comprehension dawning, Jonny knew he was in trouble.

Before he even had a chance to react, the Mexican boy pushed himself backwards as hard as he could. Jonny felt the solid steel wall meet his back. A sharp, throbbing pain raced up his spine. But he maintained his grip on the boy's collar and somehow even managed to keep his other hand placed against the back of his head. Yet Jonny already knew that neither was going to get him any closer to his goal. He had to change his plan of attack or this boy would end up turning the tables on him!

The boy shoved himself backwards again; harder than before. And this time the jarring impact of his back against the painted metal wall almost made Jonny blackout. The boy was using his weight as a weapon! Damn him for being desperate enough to think of that! Jonny's spine throbbed dangerously and there was a tingling sensation in his hands and arms. Was he losing feeling? Goddammit! He couldn't take much more of this! Another wave of fear crashed through him, giving even more power to the guilt gnawing at his insides. But Jonny crushed the feeling down as much as he could as his panic-driven instinct for survival kicked in.

Letting go of the boy's collar, Jonny instead used his free hand – along with the other still held against the back of Mexican teen's head – to grab hold of his hair. The styling gel the boy had in his hair, which had been a problem before, almost kept him from getting a good grip. Jonny almost laughed out in frustration. Was that the first crack in his sanity? Or had he already lost his mind after he'd attacked the boy out of panic and paranoia? Jonny wasn't so sure anymore. He wasn't sure about a _lot_ of things.

But even with those thoughts in his head, a bitter laugh nearly worked its way up his throat and out of his mouth. Was he going to die because this stupid fucker had greased down his hair to the point of ridiculousness? Death by hair gel? Murder by some fat Mexican kid who spent more time styling his hair than his mom did? It really _was_ funny and he'd laugh…if he wasn't in a fight for his life.

Finally succeeding in entangling his fingers in the boy's slippery mess of hair, Jonny yanked back with all the strength he had. The Mexican teen was quick to raise a hand in an attempt to counter him. It was the opening that Jonny had been looking for.

One hand releasing its hold on the boy's hair, he instead used it to grabbed at the teenager's flailing arm; seizing the exposed wrist as tightly as he could manage. Taking hold of it, Jonny wrenched it around, back and up against the boy's shoulder blade and then pivoted with his good leg. The large Mexican grunted as Jonny's modified hammerlock stretched his shoulder joint to the point of breaking. Using the boy's weight as momentum and the hand still entangled in that greasy mess of hair as a way to guide it, he maneuvered him around as fast as he could; forcibly shoving the teen's face toward the wall which had become his back's best friend. The boy tried to reach back with his other hand when he realized what Jonny was planning.

But it was too late.

The Mexican boy's face slammed nose-first into the wall with a sickening _crack_. Somehow, the boy managed an agonized scream despite how his lips were compressed against the wall. The guilt within Jonny surged up in an instant. But he resisted it. He pushed it back. He fought with it tooth and nail as it clawed and gouged at his conscience. He was fighting it almost as much as he was fighting the burly boy caught in his modified hold.

_Ignore the pain! Ignore the guilt! Ignore everything! Him or me! It's either him or me!_

With his hand still tightly gripping the boy's hair, Jonny snatched his broken face away from the grimy, white wall. There was a smeared splotch of blood where the boy's nose had impacted. Jonny reared the teen's head back with a sharp jerk. And there was about to be another.

"Pl…Pleash…shtop…" the boy whined nasally. "D-Don't…do…don't do…thish… I…I… I…don't…w-want…to…die…!"

Jonny tightened his grip in the boy's hair and wrenched his large head back even further. He had to do this! It was kill or be killed! He didn't have a choice! He _had_ to do this!

"…No…pleash…o-oh God…"

It was either him or this fat fuck! He couldn't afford to be soft!

"…shorry…I-I'm…sho shorry… I…I… Pleash…shtop…"

He was bleeding to death! He was against the clock! It was his time that was running out with each drop of blood seeping into that fucking bandage!

"…d-don't wanna…die…"

That was when he noticed the tears rolling down the boy's chubby cheeks. They intermingled with the blood and made long rivulets that stretched all the way to his jaw. The teen's crying face was anguished and pleading.

The guilt within gripped Jonny's heart like a vice.

His head swelled with a conscience that was screaming for him to stop. He forced his fingers to grip the boy's hair even tighter. He forced the muscles in his arms to tense more than they already were. He didn't want to die here either! He wanted to live! He wanted to see his mother again! He wanted to finally see his grandmother! He wanted his life to be the way it was _before_ everything in it had gone to shit! He wanted to live! He _had_ to live!

_But I won't, will I, _a bitter thought laughed at him from the darkness of his mind._ I'm dying and I fucking know it! _Everyone_ in this fucked up game knows it! If _they_ don't kill me, this goddamned gunshot will and that'll be that! So why should I give a flying _fuck_ about anyone else?_

But no matter how he tried to justify it, the goddamned guilt in his heart still wouldn't let him do what needed to be done! No matter how much he wanted to save his own life, no matter how much he wanted to survive and make it back home to his family, Jonny just couldn't make himself do it. Because down deep, he knew he'd never be able to live with the added guilt of doing so.

He could barely live with the guilt he had now.

_**-O-**_

_Jonny fingered his bloody nose absently. He hadn't even seen it coming. He'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't bothered to notice where he was._

_He had wandered into enemy territory._

"_Yeah, I was _hoping_ that I didn't fucking knock you out. Get up motherfucker. Get up!"_

_Jonny looked up with a dazed expression on his wide face for a moment and then casually ran a hand through his long hair. He was slow to push up to his feet, brown eyes focusing on the muscular blond and the three other boys who flanked him. The teen's face – the one who had hit him, apparently – was more than familiar to his eyes. There were slight variations here and there, but the familiarity was unmistakable. It was also as jarring as it was gut-wrenching._

_The guilt born from it was almost overpowering. It nearly made him sag back down to his knees. But he persisted by forcing a brazen, fox-like grin on his face and saying, "I…I was wondering when I was gonna run into the 'baby-oil boy's club'. S'up guys? Too jacked up to lube each other's assholes with your dicks today?"_

_He knew the words were half-hearted but they were more than enough to get a reaction from the boys in front of him. Jonny almost didn't see it coming. The blond had moved so fast that it nearly brought back flashbacks of that day he wished_ _to God he could forget about. The punch was solid against the side of his face. Through the pain, he knew that he would probably be spitting out a tooth or two. It was only through sheer willpower that he made himself stay on his feet. He stumbled around awkwardly to keep from falling, the tall blond dogging his every step._

"_Oh, you're _real_ fucking funny," the blond-headed boy said angrily as he reared back with his left leg and kicked him in the stomach. This time Jonny didn't remain standing. He crumpled to the ground like a ton of bricks, giving a loud grunt as he did._

"_Still think it's funny _now_, fucker? Still think it's funny what you did? Huh? Still think it's funny that my brother's fucking _paralyzed_ because of you? Answer me you piece of shit! I…fucking…said…answer…me…!"_

_The boy emphasized each word with a swift kick to Jonny's gut. They hurt; there was no other way around that. Every impact sent waves of burning pain lancing through his abdomen. Even with the training he'd had, the boy's kicks still hurt like hell._

_Normally, things wouldn't have ever gotten to this point. He would've already mopped the floor with these fuckers; even with that sucker punch from before. But the familiarity in the boy's face was too much for him to handle. It all but crippled his desire to fight back. Afterall, the boy was right about him. He was the reason his brother had been paralyzed. It was his fault. His careless mistake. His anger which had gotten the better of him. And no amount kicks to the gut could change that. Or remove the guilt that it caused._

_Finally, the kicks stopped. Jonny's abdomen felt like someone had set a large, burning hot pot down on top of it and left it there. He could barely move. Hell, he didn't want to move. All he wanted to do was just lie there and hurt; lie there and suffer for all the pain he had caused this boy whose brother he'd paralyzed. But his pride wouldn't let him. And neither would his anger._

"_S…So," he grunted as he pushed up to his knees weakly, "y-you…you done? You…you get…it all…of your…system? Or…or do each of you…do each of you fuckers get a turn on…me? Y…Y'know, like the…the backdoor action you guys are…are pretty much used to after a…a day of hard pumping?"_

_The last thing he remembered seeing before everything started to go dark was the boy's three friends rushing toward him. He wasn't sure how long the beating had lasted but he knew it'd been pretty brutal. He thought it ended somewhere around the time when the one who'd been kicking him in the gut just a few minutes before his friends got involved slammed the bottom of his foot into Jonny's face. It was lights out after that. When he opened his eyes again, it was painful seventeen hours later and he was lying in bed at the hospital._

_And that was the moment he'd realized his weakness and promised himself 'never again'._

_**-O-**_

_Yeah right, _Jonny thought furiously, _'never again' my fucking ass!_

With an angry sneer, he jerked the heavy Mexican boy away from the wall and gave him a rough shove. The boy stumbled into the opposite wall and then fell hard to metal deck, a weak hand reaching for his broken nose after he landed. Jonny could see that there was a nasty gash across its crooked bridge and a steady line of blood flowing from the cut and both nostrils along with the tears still falling from his eyes. The Mexican teen wiped the back of his trembling hand across the heavy amount of blood marring his upper lip, leaving a bright red smear along it and most of his left cheek.

Jonny wished it was that easy to wipe away the guilt that gnawed at his heart.

In front of him, the pudgy Mexican had slowly pushed himself up to his knees and was trying to crawl away, however unsteady he seemed to be. Jonny suppressed a strong desire to run over and kick the boy in the gut. The relentless guilt torturing him helped in doing that. Instead, he looked down at his bandaged thigh. The winding white gauzed secured around his gunshot wound was dark with blood. The sight of it alone almost made Jonny laugh; laugh both in irritation at his stupidity and at the fact that he was _that_ much closer to dying.

_It doesn't matter _what_ I do. The clock just keeps ticking. No way to stop it. I'm gonna die. There's no way I'm living through this shit. There just ain't no fucking way!_

Anger surging through him, Jonny looked back at the teenager he'd almost killed. The boy was moving at a snail's pace, barely even able to keep himself steady as he crawled down the corridor. He had plenty of time to catch him and finish the job he'd started. But even with the anger burning inside, he couldn't force it to push past that overriding guilt. Plus, with the adrenaline in his system beginning to wear off, he could feel the throbbing pain of the gunshot wound return.

_The wound that's gonna kill me, _he thought._ The clock's ticking down Jonny, what'cha gonna do? You gonna keep on playing the guilt-ridden nice guy and just crawl into some corner and die? Or are you gonna man up and take some of these other motherfuckers with you?_

Jonny eyed the other boy; eyed him so hard that for a moment the guilt grinding into him seemed far-off. For a brief moment, the barest of seconds really, he felt…he felt _free_. Empty. No guilt. No remorse. No compassion. Just an emptiness that left him cold to the world around him.

A nasty chill tickled its way up his spine causing him to shiver.

For just a few seconds, Jonny felt…no, he _knew_ he could kill the boy and not feel anything from it. He knew that he could go over, smash fat teenager's head into that metal floor until he was dead and most likely never feel a moment of remorse. Freedom to _do_ what needed to be _done_! Just a taste! And then it was gone and the guilt reclaimed him.

He just stood there, the biting pain in his leg momentarily forgotten as he stared with blank eyes at the boy crawling away. A feeling of utter disgust crept into his thoughts. Then a strong wave of sadness rushed over him and Jonny almost screamed in anguish at the vivid image that suddenly pressed itself into his mind.

A boy.

His body frozen in place while his eyes darted about in bewilderment.

Mind not understanding why he couldn't move.

Body not reacting to his mind telling it to move.

Broken.

Like a puppet with its strings cut.

Like a toy without a battery.

An ability taken for granted.

An ability to be normal.

An ability taken away by him in a moment of jealousy and anger.

A life destroyed.

A family shattered.

Just so he could win.

Just so he could be the best.

And history had been about to repeat itself!

In blank-minded terror, Jonny turned away from the Mexican boy he'd tried with all his might to kill. A boy who'd done absolutely nothing to earn his contempt other than try to survive the craziness he was trapped in. Just like him.

Jonny howled on the inside as realization crashed down on him. He had nearly done it again. Destroyed a life in order to win. His father was right. When _would_ it end? How much would finally be enough? Just how many more people would he cripple to be the one with his hand raised in victory?

Jonny tormented himself with those questions as he limped painfully back to where he'd dropped all of his gear. Would he always be like that? Do anything to win? Be willing to hurt someone? Or…or worse? The answer that his mind conjured only added to his misery.

And for the first time since he had paralyzed that boy, Jonny welcomed the guilt that consumed his heart.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

Severely shaken by the encounter with an already mentally distraught Alisia Benetti; JoAnne Dechon, and her younger sister Sadie, flee deeper and deeper into the oil rig that is slowly turning into a death trap. Now under the realization that some of the other students might actually be willing to participate in 'the Blitz', she and Sadie decide to retrieve their weapons so they can protect themselves.

But with chaos erupting all around them and faced with the very real possibility of Sadie being murdered before her eyes, JoAnne's resolve not to take part in 'the Blitz' becomes a harrowing question that frays the edges of her mind…and its sanity. How much longer can she hold out? Who can she trust? And just how far will she go to protect Sadie and keep her sister safe from harm?

**Coming soon, "I'd Do Anything to Keep You Safe",**

**Chapter 5 of **_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Well, a little action to add to the character building aspect of this chapter. As with before, this chapter will be in a 'constant edit' mode until I clear up every little mistake and choose better dialogue choices. As such, I apologize now for the previous chapter that went through the same kind of editing process. I'm not trying to force you to reread my writing, I just want everything to flow good and come well when read. If there are any major updates to any previously written chapter, I will notify you guys and gals in my summary.

This chapter had a very rough beginning for me. I really had no idea what to do with Jonny Chiang. In most _**BR**_ fanfics, he would've been the kid killed pre-game. But I don't like pre-game kills so I kept him alive. For how long, well that's anyone's guess. But, it was hard to write this chapter because (and I think I mentioned this in a previous Author's Note) I had planned on writing the JoAnne Dechon chapter and was already about three pages in when I decided to go with Jonny's chapter instead. On the plus side, JoAnne's chapter shouldn't take as long to finish now. On the other hand, and as is becoming usual for me, I have misgivings about this chapter.

But, misgivings aside, I feel very comfortable with the Jonathan Chiang character. He seems rather well flashed out, with just a bit of mystery surrounding his circumstances. Of course, I could be wrong and he could be the most contrived, stereotypical, _**BR**_-trope character of all time. I'm not that confident in my writing skills yet to make a bold pronouncement otherwise.

But enough with my senseless rambling.

As par usual, I hope you everyone enjoys the most recent addition to _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_. And please come back to read more!


	8. I'd Do Anything to Keep You Safe

**1****st**** AMERICAN BLITZ**

* * *

**CHAPTER 5**

**Girls, No. 02**

**JoAnne Dechon**

**"****I'd Do Anything to Keep You Safe"**

* * *

First that crazy girl attacking her sister and now _this_? Not even three minutes after she and Sadie had managed to escape from that nutcase, who'd been ready to beat her sister to death with a shoe of all things, they both heard the scream. A boy's scream at that! That was almost more surprising than the scream itself. But to her and Sadie, it alluded to something more frightening; a certain turning in events that neither of them wanted to believe but had to face the truth of.

Someone else had given in to doing violence.

Another one of the students had apparently decided to participate in the so-called 'Blitz'; had decided that _their_ lives meant more than any of the others. That made two. She had, unfortunately, begun to keep count after the encounter with that black-haired girl. And she had a sick feeling that she'd be adding more students to that list as the hours passed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt a sliver of disgust at how little time it had taken for the students to descend into committing willing violent acts against one another.

Proof-positive as to how cheap life really was to some people.

Heart pounding loud in her chest and ears, JoAnne Dechon tried hard not to gasp for breath as she and Sadie ran down the white corridor as fast as they could. They had found the stairwell that led to the floor under the one they'd been on and descended once she had made sure it was safe. Desperation and fear forced her feet move faster than she thought they could in that pair of cheap sandals; and she dragged Sadie right along behind her. All JoAnne knew was that they needed to get out of the Quarters Module and the sooner the better. Because as of now, it was turning into one giant fight club full of terrified students thinking only of themselves; thinking only of _their_ lives.

_Like that fucking bitch we just ran into,_ she thought angrily.

She wondered how much longer it would be before someone did more than just try to beat somebody else with a shoe. How much longer it would be before one of the other students released so far – if she had it right, it'd already been almost fifteen minutes since she had left the room, hid herself in an open office a few doors away from where they were all being held, waited for her sister Sadie to run by and then saved her from that crazy nut who'd tried to kill her with a shoe of all things! – made it to one of the weapon crates. The thought sent a sharp shiver up her spine. It was bad enough that some of the students were using improvised weapons; well, only one really. But if _that_ girl could make a bludgeoning weapon out of a Tory Burch sandal, what could someone more talented and vicious come up with? And just how many of the students gathered on the oil rig were that homicidal?

JoAnne tried to block the shudder she felt forming and failed.

The air was heavy and humid, just like that room they'd awakened in. Apparently, even though the power was still running, those Japanese assholes had decided that the air conditioning units weren't a worthwhile use of electricity. What were they trying to do, sweat them to death? Well, at least it was good for her sister Sadie as colder, dryer air probably would've triggered an attack by now. And that was the last thing that either of them needed. But still, the thought of their captors not running the rig's air conditioning aggravated JoAnne to no end. Of course, it was the lesser among many others bouncing around in her head; such as how she was going to keep her sister safe without giving into the violence around her. Especially when she had already come so close to doing just that when she'd attacked that black-haired girl to keep her from hurting Sadie.

JoAnne felt another shiver run up her spine as she and her younger sister rounded yet another corner.

Would she end up like her? So blinded by fear and panic that she'd attack anyone in a senseless fit of rage? JoAnne almost felt sorry for the girl; sorry for what she was being forced to become. Judging by the way she was dressed, JoAnne figured her for one of those high-society types. Manicured fingers and toes, expensive Tory Burch sandals, tanned skin; all of it screamed 'rich bitch' to her loud and clear. Of course, she could be wrong but was sure she wasn't. There was something about the way the girl had stared at her; something in her eyes. The fear and unease that she held in them seem to say as much. But then, it wasn't _just_ that.

In truth, JoAnne had put up with plenty of girls like that nutcase she and Sadie had just run away from. They were girls who thought that just because they had a little bit money, they could walk all over those who weren't as well-off as they were. Those kinds of girls had made JoAnne's life a living hell during junior high, and almost succeeded in doing the same to her once she entered high school. But she changed all that on the first day of her sophomore year by picking out the 'queen bee' and jumping her in the lunch room in front of nearly all of the school's students. Yeah, she'd been suspended and spent almost a month grounded by her mother.

But damn, was it worth it.

"J-Jo…JoAnne…can we…can we _please_ stop," Sadie gasped breathily, already nearing the point of wheezing. "We…we've…been running…running for a while…now…"

JoAnne was hesitant to do so. Afterall, the boy screaming had been followed up by more screams and shouts on top of those. And that happened _just_ as she and Sadie had reached the doorway that lead to the stairwell. Because of that, JoAnne felt very uneasy about stopping for any reason. Even knowing her sister's condition, she didn't want to stop until they were outside the Quarters Module and as far away from it as they could possibly be. Only then would she feel even remotely safe.

She took another quick breath. Her heart was pounding and her legs felt weak; tired from the all of running that she'd done with Sadie being dragged almost bodily behind her. It seemed like they had been on the run since this whole crazy thing began. Running from the room full of Japanese soldiers and their nutball leader. Running from the crazy girl who'd attacked her sister. Running from the screams and shouts of two boys who were probably trying to kill each other. It really did seem like all that she and Sadie had been doing _was_ running!

The light wheezing escaping from Sadie's lips was growing louder with each step they took. She found herself sighing between gasps for breath. Her sister was right about them needing to stop and JoAnne knew it. But she was scared. Very, _very_ scared. There were just too many other people still frantically moving through the long, angled corridors of the Quarters Module. And she didn't want to press her luck anymore than she had to. Sadie's asthma be damned!

"…Jo…_JoAnne_…pl…please… I…I…can't keep…I can't…keep run…running like…th-this…"

But JoAnne just ignored her again and pressed on, as if heedless of the burning pain in her thighs or the heaviness in her lungs. She tightened her hand around Sadie's wrist, fearful that the sweat would cause her to lose her grip. As much as she may have wished otherwise, Sadie was her responsibility now more than ever before. And to keep her safe, they _needed_ to get out of the Quarters Module. Once that happened, they would take a long, well-deserved rest. But not before then. Not until they were far enough away from the violent hell that the place was quickly becoming.

Behind her, Sadie used her other hand to weakly tug at JoAnne's. In her ears, she could hear that wheezing growing louder and louder with every ragged breath her sister took. Dammit! Now wasn't the time for them to be stopping! Especially not with what they'd heard not even a few minutes ago! There were students on the floor just above them trying to _kill_ each other! If they stopped to rest now, how long would it be before they were the targets again – before Sadie was a target again?

But even with that being the case, JoAnne couldn't force herself to keep on pushing Sadie like she was. The girl's wheezing had just become too bad and too noticeable. One way or another, it was going to cause them more trouble down the line if they didn't take a break. She was just going to have to stop long enough for Sadie to use her inhaler and catch her breath. Then, they would go back on the run again. Afterall, she couldn't protect her sister if she was the one who was killing her.

Grunting a low, tired curse, JoAnne scanned the hallway for an open office like the one she'd hidden herself away in to wait for Sadie. Her hazel eyes were quick to look past closed doors. She didn't have time to check every door in the hallway to see if it was locked or not. It wouldn't be too long before other students made it down to this floor. Hell, for all she knew they could be on the floor already!

_Gotta hurry this up,_ JoAnne thought as she continued to look for an open office door. _Much as I hate to admit it, I could a use a rest myself. And Sade's sounding pretty bad._

After another moment or two of searching around, JoAnne finally spotted an open doorway. Making herself slow to a stop, she leaned back-first against the wall when she did. Next to her, Sadie collapsed to her knees and frantically began to search through her pockets for her inhaler with trembling hands as her wheezing deepened. Concerned, JoAnne kneeled down beside her. A second or two later, her sister retrieved a blue inhaler from her pocket, raised it to her mouth and take a long pull from it. A sense of relief washed over JoAnne.

When Sadie looked up at her after taking a few quick breathes, JoAnne pointed toward the open-doored office and gasped quietly, "Stay…here, okay? Keep up…with your breathing while…I check things out, got it? But keep your eyes open for…for anyone else. Can't take any…more chances than we…already have. I won't be…long, promise."

JoAnne waited for Sadie to give a feeble nod and then rose so she could make her way over to the office; gazing back as often to check on her sister as she did to make sure that no one coming down either of the adjoining hallways. Swift and silent as she could manage, JoAnne crept up to the open doorway and maneuvered herself against the wall just next to the entrance. Glancing back in Sadie's direction again, she forced herself to take a deep breath and not worry about her ailing sister for the moment. But it was much easier said than done.

Taking a quick peek into the doorway, JoAnne made a hasty scan of the dark office space. It was an undersized cubicle; with a small L-shaped desk, a computer chair and a large box full of manila folders that she figured was supposed to pass for a filing cabinet. A desktop computer, a printer and even a laptop still sat on the desk along with various documents and a stained coffee mug. The wall was littered with dozens of papers of varying size that left little of the actual wall exposed. The office definitely had a very 'lived in' feel to it. But it was small. There was barely enough room for one person let alone two.

Yet, it was empty. And in the end, _that_ was all that mattered.

Pulling her head from the doorway, JoAnne turned to Sadie and motioned her over. Weariness evident in her movements, the smaller girl pushed up from the deck and made her way to where JoAnne was waiting as quickly as she could. When she was about three-fourths of the way there, JoAnne gave an aggravated growl and reached out to seize her sister's wrist. Yanking Sadie toward her, she caught the girl and hastily pushed her into the doorway; quick to follow behind as she did. JoAnne turned and took one last look down the corridor in both directions before pushing the door shut and locking it.

On the floor behind her, Sadie gave a dark scowl.

"Y…You d-didn't…have to be…so rough…you…you know…!"

"Shut it, limp-lungs," JoAnne quietly fired back as she turned. "Or would you rather people _know_ we're in here?"

Sadie's small mouth took on a pouty expression, but the younger girl said nothing in return. Sighing, JoAnne allowed her exhaustion to claim her and slumped against the door. Slowly, she slid down to the floor. The painted metal door was unexpectedly cool against the sweaty skin of her back. She was amazed at how tired she really was. Although she didn't know why it was so surprising, considering that she and Sadie had just spent the better part of the last twenty or so minutes running for their lives. A sudden chill swept through her and she tried hard to suppress the shiver she could feel working its way up her spine. The chill had nothing to do with the coolness of the door.

_Running for our lives,_ a vacant thought floated through her head as she glanced over at Sadie. _It just doesn't seem real. Too horrible to _be_ real! How can they force us to do this? _How!_ God Sade, what's gonna happen to us?_

Pulling her bare legs up to her chest, JoAnne wrapped her arms around them and refocused her hazel eyes on the floor between them. All of the earlier fire that had kept her running, that had kept her mind set solely on Sadie's safety, that had kept her thoughts from being tortured by the reality of the situation they were in disappeared. In its place was left the panic-stricken heart of a frightened fifteen year old girl who had absolutely no idea how to keep her and her sister out of harm's way.

What _was_ she going to do?

JoAnne – who had managed to hold back the tears for the sake of her sister after she'd heard why they were brought to the oil rig, who had promised herself that she would do everything she could to stay strong – suddenly broke down and buried her face against her knees. All of what she'd blocked out and pushed away since she first awakened in that room with her sister not beside her came flooding back into her mind. And with it came everything that she'd promised herself _not_ to let Sadie see.

The fear. The panic. The hopelessness. The desperation. The belief that there was no way that she could keep either herself or her sister alive. The fact that she _knew_ they were never going to see their parents again. Everything that that horrible Japanese bitch had pounded into her head like a stubborn railroad spike washed over her like an ocean tide. She hugged her legs even closer.

The tears came like a flood crashing over a damn; an unending river of emotion that a frantic mind searching for options had screamed at her to hold back – all for the sake of her younger sister, Sadie. JoAnne forced herself to crush all the fear and apprehension that she'd felt and replaced it with a desperate desire to keep the only person that she could trust safe. It was a boundless and impossible promise; a tasteless lie wrapped in a thin, candied veil of hope. And even though it had given her the strength to fight off a girl driven to crazed violence, even though it had kept her legs running and draped a black curtain of unwanted realization over the truth that she didn't want to accept; in the end all it had managed to do was drive her and Sadie into a dark office that seemed no better than a tomb.

A place of safety that could easily become their grave.

The lie she had conjured to cover the truth slid away like a satin gown slipping off a naked body. And the realization of their chance of survival, the realization that they would most likely never see their home or parents again stared her in the face like the eyes of a hungry predator. JoAnne squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could, but the tears wouldn't stop and the despair-wrought sadness just wouldn't go away.

She was afraid. She didn't _want_ to die! And she sure as hell didn't want to watch her sister killed before her eyes! No matter what bitterness might exist between them. But what more could she do? How much stronger could she force herself to be and not give into the escalating violence erupting all around them? JoAnne knew that she would be willing to fight someone to keep Sadie safe. But to go as far as _killing_ someone? Could she actually do that? Could she actually force herself to take another's life?

The anguished groan that escaped from between her lips seemed to confirm her answer. There was no way she could go that far! Not even for the sake of her sister. She just couldn't bear the thought of killing someone to keep them both alive. It was an insane line of thinking; something that only the most desperate of people would even consider. There had to be another way out of this. She couldn't let herself become that desperate. She couldn't let herself become a _murderer_!

_Not even to save Sade, _a thought echoed through her head. _Not even to keep her alive so at least _she_ could make it home?_

"…N-No…goddammit…no…"

Sadie's head rose up from where she'd been blankly staring at the inhaler in her hand. Her eyes were moist with tears as well; red and puffy from the silent crying that had begun as soon as JoAnne had sunk to the floor. Sadie's lips quivered for a second before she managed to push the words quietly out of her mouth.

"J-Jo are…are we gonna be okay?"

JoAnne only clenched her arms around her legs tighter. She didn't want to face her sister. She didn't want to tell her another lie. She didn't want to tell her the truth.

"J-Jo? Jo…JoAnne?"

Still she didn't move. She just sat there, mind numb to her sister's quiet words; emotions blanking her to all else but the sadness and despair eating away at her. That fiery desire born from a frantic need to keep her younger sister alive had long since been doused and smothered by a burgeoning hopelessness.

"C-C'mon Jo. Please say something. _Anything_. You…you're beginning to scare me."

But JoAnne didn't answer. She couldn't answer. The weight of everything she had shoved away in a primal desperation to keep Sadie safe from harm was crushing down on her. She couldn't give her sister the answer she wanted to hear. She couldn't lie to her and tell her that everything would be okay when Jo knew for a fact it wouldn't be! She couldn't! She _wouldn't_!

"You…you think…you think we…we're gonna –"

JoAnne quickly pulled her arms from around her legs to place her hands hard against her ears to block out the rest of what her sister was going to say. She didn't want to hear it! She didn't want to hear those words – those horrible fucking words! – coming from Sadie's mouth! She'd rather hear a lie, _any_ lie! She didn't want to face that truth again!

Fingers locked themselves around her wrists and struggled to pull her hands away from her ears. But JoAnne fought against them. Raising her tear-soaked face, their eyes locked – hazel touching light-brown. The absolute terror and panic in her sister's expression only made Joanne's heart ache even more. The hopelessness inside her swelled. She turned her head, forcing her eyes away from the source of the pain now stabbing through her heart. Sadie's hands only grew tighter around her wrists.

"Don't…don't you turn away from me," her younger sister screamed tearfully, not seeming to care if anyone passing by in the hallway could hear her. "Don't you…don't you shut me out! N-not now! Not like…like this! Not…not when I…I _need_ you! Y-you…can't…you can't leave me…alone…"

JoAnne could hear Sadie's voice falter as her hands loosened their taut grip around her wrists.

"…Please…I…I… Jo…don't leave me…don't leave me alone…"

The fear and pain in her sister's voice made JoAnne's face scrunch up in grief. She didn't want to look into Sadie's face again. She didn't want to see her sister's terror at what was going to happen to them. What she _knew_ would happen! She couldn't bear the weight of it!

"…I…I… I don't…wanna…d-d…die… J-Jo…I…I d-don't wanna…wanna die…alone…"

The words, only a bare whisper against the low droning of the oil rig's engines, struck her with the weight of an anvil. Hopelessness still drowning her heart, fear and panic still dominating her mind; JoAnne nonetheless felt a renewed sense of purpose flood through her. Pulling her hands away from her ears and out of Sadie's weakened grip, she instead turned to face her sister and threw them around the younger girl in a strong hug.

"Oh God Sadie," she almost cried, drawing her sister in closer. "I…I'm so sorry! I…I… You know that I…that I didn't mean too…! That I didn't…I didn't mean to make you…!"

"I…I know," Sadie finished for her.

JoAnne's eyes closed joyfully, tears still rolling down her cheeks. The fear had not lessened by a hair and the hopelessness hung over her heart like an oppressive storm cloud, but that sense of purpose, that fire to protect her sister was rekindled. And yet, that brought back the anguished question from before. Just how far was she willing to go to keep Sadie and herself safe? The answer that echoed in her mind frightened her as much as it gave her a darkened sense of hope.

_Anything. I'd do anything to keep you safe, Sade. _Anything_!_

She felt a cold shiver run up her spine and down again. But this time, she didn't try suppressing it or denying it. JoAnne knew that there was only _one_ way to guarantee that she and Sadie would be the last two in this insane contest. But she still didn't know if she was willing to go that far. Yet. Afterall, there were other ways to get to the end. But even that carried a certain horror to it, especially when she knew it involved outlasting the others by letting them kill each other off.

The thought made her swallow _very_ hard as she released her embrace of Sadie.

Was that really the only other way? Was that their only out to this madness? Committing murder by proxy and default? JoAnne raised a trembling hand to her sister's head and ruffled her long hair playfully. Sadie just as playfully knocked her arm away. JoAnne gave a half-hearted grin but didn't really feel it as she raised that same hand back to her face to wipe away the tears still drenching her cheeks.

_Is this really the only way off this deathtrap nightmare? Just sitting around and letting everyone else kill each? Is it? But what choice do we really have besides that?_

Making a decision that she knew would condemn her to Hell, JoAnne turned to Sadie and said, "O…Okay. We…we're gonna make it. But to do that…to do that, we need to…to get to our weapons."

She could see a look of sadness and disbelief start to emerge on Sadie's face.

"Only to protect ourselves," JoAnne countered before her sister could protest, and then forced herself to playfully add, "Limp-lungs."

The annoyed smile that crooked Sadie's lips helped to remove a bit of that hopelessness over her heart. But not much.

"So," she began again, pointing at the GPS handheld hanging around Sadie's neck, "y'know how to use that thing?"

"Ye…yeah," she answered in a weak tone. "But Jo, are…are we _really_ gonna –"

"No," JoAnne replied with a stern voice, cutting her sister off. "I…I already told you that it's just to protect our –"

A rough jiggling of the doorknob and then a loud pounding on the door itself made both her and Sadie jump.

"_Shit_," JoAnne cursed as she pushed away from the door and backpedaled next to a trembling Sadie.

"O…Oh God," a nasally voice from the other side of the door stammered; half-nervous, half-desperate, "Pl-pleash…help me…! Pleash l-let me…pleash let me…in! I…I won't…h-hurt you… I…promish…! Jush…h-help me…!"

The odd sounding boy emphasized his every distorted word with a loud pound against the metal door. JoAnne clutched Sadie closer after her sister had seized her arm in more than apparent fear. Her hazel eyes widened as that hopelessness inside clenched its cold grip around her heart. Every slam of the boy's fist against the door seemed to be in tune with her heartbeats. Her head swelled with images of Sadie lying broken and bleeding at her feet, accusing eyes pleading for an answer as to why her older sister couldn't protect her. She could feel the disappointment of her parents; their faces dark with resentment at the fact that she couldn't protect the daughter most precious to them. It was almost palpable. All because she couldn't protect Sadie!

_Because _you're_ the older sister, JoAnne,_ a memory screamed in her head, _that's why! It's _your_ job to take care of Sadie and keep things like _this_ from happening in the first place!_

A single distraction; that was all it had taken. An innocent conversation with a boy she'd been working for weeks to get to notice her. A few seconds of looking away that had led to…to…

Taking strength from that hurtful memory, JoAnne pulled her arm away from Sadie and stood up. Her sister gazed up at her with a frightened, questioning look but JoAnne just shook her head hastily. Moving over to the door, she placed a hand on the doorknob and swallowed hard. The fear that was still rolling through her made it an effort to push herself into doing what she was going to do. From the other side of the door, the boy's desperate voice seemed to be growing moreso.

"I…I know you're…in…there! Pleash…let m-me in…! H-he…might come…a-after me…again…! I…I…don't wanna…d-die…! "

_Neither do I fucker,_ JoAnne thought as she forced herself to twist the knob and yank open the door.

All of a sudden, she heard Sadie scream. For a second, JoAnne wondered why until she saw what was standing in the doorway. A hefty Mexican boy dressed in a yellow and red _guayabera_-style shirt, black knee-length shorts and a pair of Birkenstock sandals – with his nose crooked at an _impossibly_ odd angle and blood, flowing from the gash across its bridge, covering most of the bottom part of his chubby face. She didn't even bother trying to conceal the scream that worked its way up her throat and out of her mouth.

The boy turned around in horrified expectation and then rushed into the doorway. JoAnne's instincts suddenly took over. Pulling the door open as wide as she could, she put as much strength as possible into to closing it shut once again. The poor Mexican boy never saw it coming.

Just as he was turning his head forward, the painted metal door slammed into him; face-first.

He howled in pain as his hands flew up to his already injured nose while stumbling awkward steps back from the doorway. Not wasting any time, JoAnne turned back to Sadie and extended her hand hurriedly.

"_C'mon!_" she yelled.

Sadie swiftly pushed up to her feet and grabbed hold of JoAnne's hand. Getting a good grip, she pulled her sister right along behind her as she faced forward and ran out the doorway. They were only a few steps outside of the small office, when JoAnne heard Sadie scream out again. Turning around in haste and fear, she saw that the Mexican boy had reached out and seized Sadie's other arm with a bloody hand. His face was nothing but desperation and anger. And JoAnne knew from experience what desperate, angry people did.

Releasing Sadie's hand, she rounded the girl to reach the heavyset Hispanic boy. Once she did, JoAnne reared back with her right leg and kicked him as hard as she could in the groin. The shot to his genitals was more than solid. He immediately let go of Sadie's arm with a surprised shriek and crumpled to the metal deck in obvious pain, gasping for breath as his eyes clenched shut.

Grabbing up the same arm that the now-groaning boy had seized, JoAnne ran back around Sadie and broke out into a hard run that her sister was only barely able to maintain. Fear, panic and hopelessness pushed far into the back of her mind once again, JoAnne concentrated only on two things.

Running and keeping Sadie safe.

But to do that, especially after what had just happened, they were going to have to find out where their weapons were. There was no other choice now. It was either that or run around the oil rig scared out of their minds, hiding in every abandoned office they could find and kicking boys in the nuts every time they were discovered! And that was to say nothing on any other girls that they might run into. For some odd reason, after the encounter with that black-haired girl, JoAnne found herself fearing _them_ more than she did the boys.

There was no other way around it. Finding their weapons was now _essential_ to their continued survival in this craziness they were trapped in. Otherwise, they may as well throw themselves overboard to their deaths.

"We…we'll rest as…as soon as we…can," she gasped out. "Don't…suppose you…can use that…thing…on the…run?"

Behind her, Sadie wore a flustered look but was grabbing at the GPS handheld with her free hand despite it.

"Uh…yeah…I…I can…try…!"

JoAnne nodded her head but said nothing else. That fire inside her burned brightly. Running might be their only option now, but as soon as they found their weapons, that was going to change. The encounter with the Hispanic boy had only made her understand how much was really at stake. And the horrible realization was that she couldn't _afford_ to be soft, not if she wanted to keep herself and Sadie alive to reach the end of this sickening 'game'. That much was more than certain to her now.

Which meant that after they retrieved their weapons, JoAnne was going to do everything in her power to keep her sister safe. Even if she had to give into the insanity happening around her to accomplish just that.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

'The Blitz' has succeeded all too well in planting its murderous seeds into two of the participants involved early on. Both Alisia Benetti and Jonathan Chiang have succumbed to the temptation to take the lives of their fellow students; their minds dragged past the breaking point by fear, panic and paranoia. And even though JoAnne Dechon has resisted thus far, fear and panic tempered by a strong desire to protect her younger sister, the seeds resides in her as well; threatening to take root through her wish to keep Sadie safe.

Though no one has yet to die, blood has finally been spilt by undeniably brutal means. But it's only the first few drops of much more guaranteed to come.

But minor skirmishes like that don't interest Misty Greer. She has only one thing on her mind. She has only one goal. To win. More important to her than anything else, it's something that she doesn't take lightly. Yet for her to win, she must be willing to kill. And in turn, she must keep from being killed by those whose perception of reality is slowly being warped by the sadistic stress precipitated by 'the Blitz'.

Winning is all that's ever mattered to Misty, but will her 'do whatever it takes to win' credo hold true in the ultimate game where the only way to succeed is to commit murder?

**Coming soon, "Murder Games",**

**Chapter 6 of **_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

And thus, we finally arrive at the long-promised 'JoAnne Dechon' chapter! What a lengthy, weird road I traveled to get here. This chapter was supposed to immediately follow the 'Alisia Benetti' chapter and give a better sense of connection from a time perspective. But oddly enough, after checking through the previously written chapters, I discovered that every chapter since the 'Bobby Cheveyo' chapter has been centered on my female characters. So, I made the hasty decision to push back the 'JoAnne' chapter in favor of the one which focused on 'the loud mouth punk with the dangerous long hair' (love that comment by the way, _Kelley A_…makes me smile every time I read the review you left me; and yes, I do indeed 'owe you one'!), 'Jonny Chiang'.

But now, I suppose I'm falling back into old habits because after this chapter comes the 'Misty Greer' chapter! I really can't seem to stop working on my female characters! I think I need to learn to alternate a little better.

Anyway, JoAnne…hmmm. What more can I really say about her? The original idea I had for her was to be the 'mean older sister'. Stereotypical, yes. But while writing, and as seems to be happening a lot with me when constructing the chapters for these characters, the idea changed into something that seems a lot better. I _still_ her want to be mean, mind you (as all older siblings invariably have a habit of being), but I also want to temper that with a little compassion due to their horrifying situation. Which is why I think that I enjoyed writing this chapter so much in the end. Because I truly believe that as an older sibling, _this_ is how I would react. Frantic, desperate to save myself and my sister, but horrified at the notion of doing something so heinous as killing someone to accomplish that. I would be scared out of my mind and overcome with a sense of absolute hopelessness. But I would try to stay strong for the sake of my younger sister. I'd _have_ to. Otherwise, there would be no point in going on. I also know that eventually, my desperation would lead me to do the inevitable to protect her. And I _would_ because her safety would be my top goal. But, that's just my take I how I would deal with the situation if it were to happen to me and one of my sisters – especially if I were no older than JoAnne and _extremely_ uncertain of my future. But each person reacts in a different way and, in the end, that's what makes us human I suppose. Still, if any of you have a differing viewpoint, I'd love to hear it!

Well, all that aside, I hope that you guys enjoy this latest chapter of _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_! Don't be afraid to leave a comment or two! And as always, a big thanks to _Kelley A_ for his awesome critiquing of my story!

See you next chapter!


	9. Murder Games

**1st AMERICAN BLITZ**

* * *

**CHAPTER 6**

**Girls, No. 05**

**Misty Greer**

**"Murder Games"**

* * *

_"__I can't say I understand what's going on in that head of yours, Greer."_

_The girl in question, Misty – first-string liberos of the Bayside High School Varsity Volleyball Team – just kept her cool, light-blue eyes focused on the school banner against the wall before her. It had become practiced ease to ignore her coach's ranting. His tirades were always the same; overblown, boring and way too predictable to be taken seriously by her – or anyone else with brains, for that matter. And because of that, dealing with him was never a problem. Besides, what_ _could_ _he do to the team's_ star _player? Absolutely nothing,_ if _he wanted to keep on winning._

_"__You don't need to," she stated, no hint of anger or reproach in her voice. "All you need to understand is that we won because of me." Misty's face remained icy and steady as she turned her eyes to the older man dressed in a dingy warm-up suit leaning against the edge of the desk just to her left. It made her sick just looking at him. How a loser like him had even __gotten__ a coaching job in the first place was a complete mystery to her. "You do understand that, right coach? We_ won _the game. Because of_ me. _Not Hailey. Not Jordan. Not even that varsity __bitch_, _Rochelle._ _Me_."

_Eyes incredulous, Coach Butterman stared at the girl seated in front of him._

_"__You…You_ can't _be serious," the gray-haired man sputtered out._

_Misty ran long fingers through her damp, undercut-styled, blond hair indifferently._

_"__Completely serious, coach."_

_Butterman pushed himself away from the desk and folded his thick arms across an even thicker chest; giving the unconcerned Misty the most serious expression he could muster. He threw in a scowl for good measure. But neither it nor his new, 'this-is-no-joke' pose had any effect on her._

_"__Do you realize that your little obsession with getting the ball and winning the game cost us one of our best players? Walters is going to be out the entire season because of that idiotic stunt you pulled," he exclaimed hotly._

_Sighing, Misty leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling in boredom._

So_ that's _why he had me called away from the gym, _she thought, annoyed._

_Misty didn't bother to hold back the frown she could already tensing her sweaty forehead. She couldn't believe it was all about that idiot girl again! He had cut her afternoon practice short because of_ this_?_ _Because of _Becky Walters_? The stupid little bimbo who had almost __lost__ them the game in the first place? If she hadn't busted her ass in the last two sets to clean up __that__ slut's mess, the varsity volleyball team wouldn't be anywhere __near_ _the Tri-State Tournament this year! And_ this _was the thanks that she got? A goddamned lecture? This had to be some sort of joke._

_"__So," she uttered, voice uncaring and eyes never moving from the office's stucco ceiling, "what's your point? She was_ hardly _the best. And it's not like it's anything serious. I mean, it's_ just _a broken ankle. It'll heal."_

_The coach just shook his head in disbelief._

_"__Yeah, a broken ankle that_ you _caused by not watching – or caring – where you were going! You knocked her down and then _stepped _on her ankle! Or did you forget _that_, too? All to return a high pass that_ _anyone_ _on the court could have gotten! Did the spotlight mean_ _that_ _much to you, Greer? Was it that damn important to knockback that pass?"_

_Misty rolled her eyes at the ceiling. She was __really__ getting sick of being lectured. Especially by some loser jackass who's coaching ability was no better than that of a brain-dead mule. Was it __any__ wonder that she hated the man so damned much?_

_"__No coach," she replied in a gruff and annoyed voice, "it wasn't the spotlight that mattered to me. The only thing that mattered to me was_ _winning_ _the damned_ game. _Becky was useless that night. Hell, even a half-assed coach like_ you _couldn't miss how bad she was playing! She was dropping pass after pass, left and right. If I hadn't done what I did, we'd have lost. So what if I broke her goddamned ankle! We _won_! I mean, wasn't that the whole_ point _of playing? Winning?" Misty only paused long enough to lift her head back into an upright position, directing an intense gaze at Coach Butterman. "Who cares if a few players get hurt along the way, especially __useless__ ones like Becky Walters."_

_The coach's eyes narrowed at the tall, well-built girl sitting in front of him like she didn't have a care in the world. Grunting in absolute disgust, he dropped his arms, turned away from her and made his way to the other side of his desk. Seating himself in the rickety, old chair, Coach Butterman leaned forward onto the desk with the points of his elbows; steepling his fingers just in front of his slender lips._

_"__I care, Greer," he spoke out in a cold, even tone, "which is why…you're suspended, effective immediately. Clear out your locker and get the hell out of my sight."_

_The confident, worriless expression that'd been on Misty's face since the beginning of Butterman's tirade evaporated like rain on hot pavement. Had she really heard him right? Did he really say what she _thought_ he had just said? Had he really just…just _suspended_ her?_

_"__Y-You…You can't _do_ that," she stammered in astonishment. "If you suspend me, we'll lose the Tri-State Tournament! Even_ you _can't be_ that _stupid!"_

_The balding man pulled his arms away from the desk and leaned back irritably in the chair. "You should've of thought of that before you did what you did, now get out."_

_Misty pushed up angrily from her own chair and glared daggers at Butterman._

_"__Don't forget who my mom is, you stupid jackass," she spat, reaching down to grab her gym bag roughly. "Once I tell her what you did, she's going to have your ass up before the school board _and_ the athletic committee! I think it's pretty safe to say that you_ _won't_ _have this coaching job after that. And don't forget that she knows people…_important _people. I guarantee that she'll make sure that you won't be able to get another coaching job_ anywhere _in Florida if the board or committee pulls your plug!"_

_Butterman just gave her a level, stony expression that radiated an outside confidence; but __inside__ Misty was sure that he wasn't __nearly__ as cocky or smug as he looked. The fact that his left eye had begun twitching unconscionably only confirmed it for her. Of course, it wasn't like Misty wasn't aware of it. Afterall, she had played this particular game with Garret Butterman for much of her freshmen year. And it was a game that she was getting_ very _good at winning._

_"__I'm going to be gone for two weeks," Misty began with a dark smile emerging on her smooth, heart-shaped face, "trip to Paris. I'm sure you've heard about it, the contest that I and a few others from my French class won? Yeah, I knew you'd heard about it. You see coach; winners like me _get _rewards like that. That's just how it is and it's something that_ you'd _better get used to. Two weeks. You've got_ that _long to make the right choice about this stupid suspension idea. And you better make it a good decision, _coach_." The tall girl dressed in tennis shoes, kneepads, black spandex shorts and a white sleeveless jersey with highlights of red and yellow casually walked over to and opened up the door to Butterman's office. She stopped in the doorway before leaving the dim room and turned around to cast a crude look at the older man sitting behind the desk. The smile on her face never touched her eyes. "Otherwise, your job'll be history when I get back."_

_Flashing her coach one last, dirty look, she resumed her steps through the open doorway and slammed it shut as hard as she could behind her._

_**-O-**_

Misty Greer grunted sourly at both the memory and at the effort required to push open the heavy door which led out of the Quarters Module. After leaving the room two minutes behind some pimply face, chess geek and four minutes behind that redneck girl who'd almost gotten herself shot; Misty had made an immediate effort to find someplace safe and secluded where she could lay low long enough to open the white envelope. She had found just the place in the form of an unlocked office on the floor below the one containing the room where she'd awakened. It was cramped and small, but fit her purposes nicely.

Unlike most of the other students in the madness about to erupt around them, Misty knew _exactly_ how important the contents within the envelope were. What was written on that index card would play a significant role in her surviving the insane 'game' she'd found herself trapped in. But it was only one part of what she needed to come out on top as the winner. The other part she already possessed.

Checking her surroundings before entering, she'd wasted no time in closing the door and locking it. Misty had known that she was racing against the clock. She'd been _very_ lucky to be one of the first ten students to leave the room. Being one the last to get her name called would've put her at a serious disadvantage. By then, most of the other students would have already found their weapons. And with all the desperate, fear-minded teens running around; it would've made it that much harder for her to win. Yes, she'd been very lucky indeed.

As soon as she had settled herself into the small space, Misty pulled the envelope from her pocket and tore it open. Clear thinking and keeping a level head would be her most important weapon, in truth. It was something that would give her the advantage over most of the others involved in 'the Blitz', especially after seeing just how many had already collapse into despair and hopelessness before the damn thing had even gotten started. Of course, it didn't hurt to have a little extra leverage to help her grab the win and be the sole survivor.

And that's where the importance of the envelope and the card came in. Misty allowed herself a brief sliver of a grin as she reached into her other pocket to retrieve the GPS handheld. Turning the index card around to its back, she carefully read and reread the instructions for creating a 'waypoint'.

_A clear mind and a level head is what's going to get me through this,_ is what she remembered thinking at the time_. It's what's going to get me the win! I _have_ to win!_

While not on the verge of desperation or a full mental breakdown like some of the other students she'd watched during her time in that room, she _was_ incredibly unsettled and disturbed by what that Omatsu woman had revealed. Even Misty, who placed winning above all else in her life, found herself unable to comprehend the best way to react to the conditions of what it took to win the crazy 'murder game' she'd been trapped in. Kill or be killed? Death was the _only_ way out? It was as simple as it was complicated.

Omatsu Reiko didn't seem to care though. According to her, most American teens were nothing more than delinquents unworthy of the life they'd been granted. They were spoiled, arrogant, self-absorbed and lazy. They were a cancer slowly eating away at the diseased heart of the American Dream. They refused to work hard for that Dream, wanting it to simply be handed to them. The American teen wanted it easy and, from everything that Misty had seen some of her classmates do, she couldn't say that she _wholly_ disagreed with the cruel Japanese woman's beliefs.

But even if that was the case, it didn't give her – or those traitors in her very own government – the right to do this to them! Kidnapping American teenagers as young as she and the others were; forcing them into some nutty 'game' where they had to _kill_ each other? Since when had _that_ become the norm for dealing with rebellious teens in the States? Yeah, things were bad. The 'Little Depression' was playing havoc with everyone's lives except the rich and the U.S. was still embroiled in two wars it couldn't afford to maintain; especially with a _third_ one looming on the horizon. Things were definitely a long way from getting better. But to Misty, that was what made it so great about being American in the first place. The struggle and fight to get back on top and stay there. That desire to be the best. That desire to _win_!

It was a desire that formed the very core of who Misty was.

Giving the door another good shove, she finally managed to push it all the way open. Hinges in need of oil groaned and squealed in protest as the door widened. The noise they produced carried through the air easily. Grimacing, she took a quick look behind her to make sure that no one else who might've been lingering about had heard. Seeing that the hallway was still empty, Misty wasted no time in leaving the Quarters Module.

Taking a deep breath as she adjusted the canteen slung across chest, Misty stepped through the threshold. Exiting, the humid sea air that greeted her offered a little relief from the oppressive atmosphere of the Module's interior rooms and hallways. The damp heat inside had caused her mid-riff t-shirt to cling to her sweaty body in a somewhat whorish fashion despite the sports bra she was wearing underneath it. That would have bothered her if it hadn't been for fact that the t-shirt, along with the capris and tennis shoes that she was wearing, were lightweight and easy to move in. _Another_ advantage she had over almost everyone else in this sick 'game'.

She smiled at that thought.

Unlike many of the others, she had dressed as light as possible. Not because she knew that they'd be forced into some kind of crazy Japanese death match; but rather, because she liked to be comfortable. Comfort was often the key to victory. If you were uncomfortable, it messed with your concentration and ability to focus. In normal situations, it could lead to you losing the game. _Here_, it could mean your death.

While in the briefing room, she'd taken a quick study of what some of the other girls were wearing. Long skirts, tank dresses, short-shorts, flip-flops, platform sandals and other nonsense seemed to be the rule of the day. She was sure that in the end, however, it would get every _one_ of those girls killed.

Girliness was all fine and dandy for the ones who liked to giggle and gossip about what the ones not in their clique did. The one's who this insane contest was _really_ created for. But for her, it was an encumbrance that she couldn't afford to have. Not if she wanted to be a winner. _The_ winner. And in the end, that was all that truly mattered to her.

Winning and being the best.

It was like her mother had told her when she was old enough to understand it; being a winner demanded focus and sacrifice. That was something that would be virtually unachievable if she pampered herself like most of the other girls at Bayside High. It was the very thing that most of the teenage girls – save for a few she'd taken careful note of – gathered on the drilling rig lacked. Make-up? The latest, trendiest clothes? Tanning at the beach? Shopping for shoes? Gossiping with 'girlfriends'? Partying all night? Drinking? Boys? No, she didn't need any of that. Dedication and working hard to be the best was all she needed. It was all she wanted. And it wasn't something that she could achieve by being a bitchy 'girly-girl'.

Her mother couldn't have agreed more.

Checking behind her again, Misty stepped away from the door and further into the overcast daylight to scan the surrounding area cautiously. A literal wall of machinery lay directly in front of her. To her left or right was a narrow alleyway. One direction – the shorter of the two – seemed to break out into some sort of open space where she could see three large, orange objects line up neatly beside each other in a row that pointed diagonally toward the sea. Lying beyond that stretched grayish ocean water that almost seemed to be a part of the cloudy sky that about matched its color. In the other direction was darkness born of that gloomy sky and the high machine-walls surrounding her; a dim alley that seemed to lead nowhere else other than deeper into the superstructure of the offshore platform.

Taking yet another quick look behind her, Misty maneuvered to the other side of the open door where it would block her from being seen by anyone else who might end up exiting through it as she had. Once she'd leaned against the wall next to the door, Misty reached into her pocket and grabbed hold of her GPS handheld. Pulling it out and holding it up in front of her face, she pressed the 'menu' button and arrowed down to the 'saved waypoints' option. Raising her eyes from the GPS for a moment to make sure that she was still alone, Misty returned them back to the small, color screen and pressed the 'enter' button. After a second or two, the waypoint screen opened up and she chose the only highlighted option available to her.

'Kill To Win'.

She had named the waypoint that as a reminder; a reminder at what was at stake in the crazy 'game' of life and death she'd been trapped in. Just like everyone else who had been expecting to go on a trip to Paris. That _still_ pissed her off. The reward that she'd so arrogantly proclaimed that she deserved to that idiot Coach Butterman was nothing more than a lie; a ruse to entrap her and the other students and bring them to an offshore drilling platform to die. Misty could've screamed at the irony of it all. She was sure that if Butterman knew about the situation she was in right now, he wouldn't be able to keep that smug smile off of his stupid-looking face. Too bad he wasn't here. Because she knew for a fact that she'd be able to kill _him_ without any kind of hesitation!

_I'm going to win this,_ she thought while an image of Coach Garrett Butterman's laughing face danced dangerously in her mind. _If for no _other_ reason than making sure that piece of shit never coaches in the Tri-State area again!_

Returning her attention to the GPS, she watched with intense eyes as the small screen switched over to a multi-colored map which highlighted each and every section of the oil rig. A thin red line traced a trail that led from the Quarters Module – presumably from the small office she'd hidden herself in – to a tiny area that seemed to be situated between the Power Module and the Process Module. That meant she'd be heading deeper into the platform's superstructure. Misty bit at her lip apprehensively. It was obvious that the GPS had charted out the quickest and most direct route for her to take. The problem was, it was the route she _least_ wanted to travel.

Lowering the GPS handheld, Misty gave an aggravated sigh. As lame as it sounded, she _hated_ the dark ever since she was little. She'd never been able to handle it all that well. Even after getting older, it still bothered her. Her room back home was full of those cheap, outlet-mounted LED nightlights. She just couldn't get herself to sleep knowing that darkness surrounded her. It was hard enough just closing her eyes _to_ sleep! Her phobia of the dark was so bad that her parents had to resort getting a doctor to prescribe her sleep-aid medication. It was a prescription that she still had and used frequently. Maybe a little _too_ frequently at times.

Slumping against the wall, Misty let the hand holding the GPS fall to her side. There was really no other way around it, she supposed. Trying to chart a _new_ waypoint would just be a waste of time as Misty barely understood what she was doing the _first_ time. And this time, there were no instructions for her to find on the back of an index card. Besides, time was a luxury she just didn't have. It'd been more than long enough for there to be dozens of other students running around the Quarters Module in a panicked frenzy. It wouldn't be too long before someone came running through that doorway. And Misty didn't want to be around when that happened.

Because as much as she was playing to win, she just wasn't sure she had it in her to kill someone. Hurt someone? Yes, without a doubt. Afterall, Becky Walters had learned that particular fact the hard way. And in retrospect, the bitch had probably deserved it for almost losing them the game. But there was huge difference between breaking someone's ankle on purpose and ending their life intentionally. It was a line that she knew she'd have to cross, probably sooner than later. Either way it went, if she wanted to win she was going to have to kill everyone else to do so. The quicker she accepted that fact and put it at the core of her desire to win, the better.

Misty took another deep breath as she pushed away from the wall and strengthened her grip on the GPS handheld. First and foremost, she needed to get to her weapon. Her clear thinking and level head would only get her so far in this 'murder game'. Those both needed to be tempered with that weapon waiting for her at the end of the GPS-created path she'd have to travel to get there. And that meant traveling through the darkness of that passageway as a first step to achieving her goal of winning. Still, the thought of braving that shadowy alley made her shudder.

_Pull your shit together, Greer, _she shouted inwardly. _Darkness or losing? Which one are you afraid of more? Which one would disappoint him more if he were here?_

Face hardening, Misty leaned her head around the door to peer down the hallway. It was still empty. Slipping back behind it, Misty tried to steady herself mentally for the trip through her personal Hell to come. But she couldn't stop the sliver of panic which had set her heart to racing.

_Focus, girl, _she yelled in her mind. _Focus on the win! Focus on the victory! Focus on _anything_ but your fear! You've _got_ to do this! If you don't, you'll lose and die! YOU WILL DIE!_

The disapproving face of her father appearing disingenuously in her mind, Misty forced resolve into her heart and rushed out from behind the door without checking to see if anyone was coming down the corridor. It wasn't that she was so arrogant as to be unconcerned about any potential threats running through that well-lit hallway. It was more that her concentration had to be exact and precise if she wanted to make it down the shadowy passage without breaking down and losing her mind. Afterall, they were _both_ things that could get her killed if she lingered.

Ten steps away from the door, the first shadows created by that high wall of machinery engulfed her. Misty could feel her breath quicken. The dark path which lay before her seemed to stretch and distend as she trekked deeper into the gloom that stood between her and her salvation. Her legs felt like they were gaining a will of their own, muscles straining against the orders sent by her mind to move forward. Misty's arms were pinned rigidly to her sides, hand holding the GPS clamped around it like it was the only thing that could fend off whatever lay in the dark waiting to drag her into it.

The sea breeze picked up and much a colder gust of air than before washed over her body, nudging her forward. Misty nearly screamed but held it back at the last minute. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest. Her head felt heavy and her legs were leaden. The darkness surrounding her was twitching and convulsing. It almost felt like it was trying to drown her! She tried not to close her eyes and instead forced them forward to the passage's exit. The dim end to the throughway seemed miles from her. Had the alley been _this_ long when she'd first entered it?

Suddenly, a shadow darkened the end of the passage momentarily and then disappeared. Misty almost screamed again. Her legs tried to stall but she forced them to keep moving. It was just her imagination. It had to be! The shadows weren't alive. They couldn't hurt her!

Swallowing hard, Misty pushed on in absolute terror and stared directly ahead despite what she thought she had seen.

_Focus on the light,_ she repeated soothingly in her mind. _Focus on the light. Focus on the light._

The few minutes that she'd spent in the dark alleyway felt as though they had stretched into hours before Misty finally reached its end. It was like one long nightmare come to life for her. By the time she stumbled out of the passage and into the dim, open space that it had led her to; she found that the experience was more exhausting than she could've imagined. For all of her desire to win, for all of that passion to be the one left standing at the end of this crazy game; Misty felt it all slip from her mind as she collapsed heavily to her knees and began to cry. If she could've stopped herself, she would have. But the harrowing trip through her worst nightmare brought to life had been like a kick in the gut.

Misty could force herself to feel no relief from making it through the shadowy alley. All it had done was reinforce the fear that she had felt since she was a child about what lingered in the darkness. She was shivering. The hand clenching hold of her GPS was again tightening around the device unconscionably. No matter how much she had tried to fight that fear of the dark, no matter how hard she had tried to push it away by focusing on something else; it _always_ seemed to be undefeatable. Unbeatable.

It was the one struggle she could never win against.

Slowly, Misty raised a trembling hand to her eyes to wipe away the tears; head rising on instinct to take in her surroundings. She was kneeling in what looked like some kind of T-intersection outside the Quarters Module. Clearing the remaining tears from her eyes, Misty gave more attention to her surroundings; if for no other reason than to take her mind off of the trip through the dark alleyway. As she did, however, something caught the corner of her eyes. And it stopped her cold. It was something that made the fear caused by that tormenting trek through the hellish alley almost seem like an afterthought. Because just off to her left, in a small alcove flanked by a tangled mess of pipes and other machinery; there sat a long, dark-green box.

Her head immediately snapped in its direction, light-blue eyes widening. The box didn't match its surroundings at all. It was too uniform, too perfectly placed, too…_military_. Misty's heart tried not to leap into her throat as she realized, in horror, it was one of the military chests that the Omatsu woman had mentioned during that so-called 'orientation'. The ones containing weapons to be used by the students forced to participate in 'the Blitz'. She also had a vacant realization that this one couldn't be the one indicated by her card. Not according to the waypoint she'd set on her GPS handheld. She was still more than a good walking distance away from where the path created by the GPS ended. And that wasn't even the worst part of it.

It was _open_!

Before Misty even had a chance to react, something cold and hard pressed itself against the back of her head.

_Shit!_

She froze without even a second thought, afraid that one wrong move could set off whoever was behind her; whoever was holding what seemed to be some type of gun to her head. A growing terror of a brutal and hard death made it hard for her to catch her breath. It left her feeling dizzy with foreboding. Panic tried to invade her mind. Fear raced through her heart. Misty could feel a lump in her throat as she swallowed unconscionably. Her thoughts were swimming in a dozen different directions, making it harder and harder for her to concentrate; harder for her to focus. It was first time in Misty's life that she truly felt helpless and unsure of what to do.

"Okay. Look, I'm…I'm _not_ going to hurt you. At least I won't as long as you don't do anything _stupid_."

Despite the terror she was feeling, the words angered Misty for some reason. Whoever the boy – the voice had been masculine – was, he held her at an obvious disadvantage. The last thing he should be doing right now was giving her a chance to come up with a plan of escape. If he were really playing to win, he wouldn't have hesitated to splatter her face against the dirty metal deck! And if she was still alive, still breathing long enough to begin conceiving a way to get out of her predicament; it meant that he wasn't playing to win. It was either that of the boy was a total chickenshit.

Whichever he was, Misty wasn't going to let the opportunity to capitalize on his mistake pass. She was quick to take hold of the opening that the boy had given her by testing it with a natural taunt.

"And I'm supposed to believe that, right?"

The unforgiving hardness pushed against her head painfully. Misty didn't bother to stifle the grunt that escaped her compressed lips. Reckless! That had been _very_ reckless! Pushing at a panicked boy holding a gun to her head with a taunt like that could've gotten her very dead!

It was a stupid move, especially for her. But at least it proved one point to her. The boy wasn't going to pull that trigger, at least not yet. And that meant she still had a little time to work out some sort of escape plan.

But what was she going to do? How was she going to get out of this? She had to clear her mind. She had to think. And on top of everything else, she couldn't let herself be reckless again! Her life was riding on every action that she took. The boy had been stupid enough to give her time by not killing her outright. She had to make good use of it. She wouldn't get another chance.

"YOU KEEP BEING A SMARTASS," he screamed suddenly, catching Misty off-guard, "AND IT WON'T MATTER _WHAT_ YOU FUCKING BELIEVE! NOW GET THE FUCK UP!"

The menacing barrel of the weapon pushed against Misty's head again and she rose to her feet unsteadily. That fear of imminent death returned to her as quick as it had left. She could hear her heart pounding strong and loud in her ears. She could almost feel the blood racing through her veins and arteries. Blood that would certainly be spraying against the deck if she didn't play her cards right. Panic tried to push into her mind again but she resisted it by focusing on winning the game she was playing with this boy. A twisted 'murder game' where there could be only one winner.

And Misty intended on being that winner.

"O…Okay," the boy stammered in a tight voice. "Look. I…I'm sorry I yelled at you. If you couldn't tell, I'm stressing pretty fucking hard here. I mean, what the _fuck_? How the hell did this shit even _happen_?"

Misty didn't say anything. It wasn't like she hadn't asked herself that same question a dozen times since everything had been explained by that Omatsu woman. It was like some nightmare that she couldn't wake up from. But, it was a nightmare that she planned on surviving; one that she planned on living through long enough to come out on top. For Misty, there _was_ no other option.

Abruptly, the pressure from the gun barrel that was shoved against the back of her head lessened.

"Turn around," the boy began in a strained, hesitant voice, "slowly."

Misty did what she was told. Afterall, with the kind of stress he was under, it wouldn't take too much to set him off. And she didn't want a repeat of her earlier mistake.

When she came face to face with the boy, Misty was shocked that she recognized him. That shock was accompanied by immediate horror. The unblemished skin. That moussed hair. Those facial features she was sure made him handsome to every other girl who saw him. And those eerie gray eyes that carried a hint of something dark and terrible lying just beneath the surface. He was one of the students gathered in that room she'd taken careful note of. And he was one of the students she'd desperately wanted to avoid meeting; especially before even she had a chance to get to her weapon!

"You know," the boy said in an anxious tone, those unsettling eyes giving her body a quick once-over, "there…there's a chance that some of the others are going to team up."

Misty couldn't keep the disgust in her voice hidden.

"And?"

The boy's gray eyes narrowed as his hands tightened around the weapon he was still pointing at her. Misty felt her heart leap as she regarded it with nervous eyes. She'd figured on a handgun, a pistol of some kind. She never would've imagined that he would be carrying a shotgun. A fucking _shotgun_!

If he'd pulled the trigger to that, her face wouldn't have been splattered on the ground. Her whole fucking _head_ would've been blown off! The thought of just how close she'd come to such a violent and messy death left a sick, oily feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"_And_," he more than emphasized, voice becoming somewhat pressured. "I think it'd be a good idea if you and _I_ got together. You know, to watch each other's backs. A good idea, don't you think?"

The expression on Misty's face went flat. Team up? Watch each other's backs? Was he _serious_? In a game where the only way to win was to make sure that the other person was dead and bleeding, he wanted them to team up? What a bunch of bullshit! She could barely stand her teammates on the Bayside High Volleyball team! Why in the hell would she team up with him?

She was about to give a polite reply that she hoped would avoid triggering his tamper until she realized that the opening she'd been searching for had just dropped into her lap. _I'm facing him now,_ an abrupt thought echoed. The idea popped into her head almost immediately afterward. It was a simple plan, but one that would play on the boy's obvious uneasiness and fear. Misty forced herself to remain calm in the face of the student holding her hostage with that two-barreled shotgun. If she were going to escape so she could win 'the Blitz', it would be now or never.

Without even giving it another thought, Misty opened her mouth to say something and then widened her eyes in feigned fear. She immediately began to backpedal, which earned a perplexed look from the boy in front of her.

_Come on, you dumbfuck,_ Misty voiced in her head as she continued her faked terror._ You can't possibly be _that_ stupid!_

"Hey, what the fuck are you –"

And then it hit him. Misty could see the fear and panic roll across his face. She could see those concealing gray eyes get larger and larger. The paranoia on his face was palpable. She almost smiled. Almost.

Flinging her arms over her head for good measure, Misty dropped herself down to the deck and let out as girlish of a squeal as she could. It nearly made her cringe when she heard the sound escape her lips. But as much she hated doing it, it added to the lie she was telling with her actions. A lie which was about give her the out she'd been looking for since that shotgun was first pressed against the back of her head.

She watched carefully from under her folded arms as he fell for it hook, line and sinker. As she had expected him to do, the boy made frantic, unsteady turn; bringing the shotgun around in a panicked desire to blow the person he believed to be advancing on him in half. She only had seconds to act. And if she fucked this up, she wouldn't get another chance.

As soon as the boy's back was to her, Misty dropped her arms and rose from the ground as fast as she could. Launching herself at him before he could realize that she'd tricked him; she placed her hands against his back and gave him as hard a shove as she could manage. The GPS she was holding kept her from getting the momentum she was looking for. But it still did the trick.

The boy, blinking in confusion as to why no one was behind him, never saw it coming. He stumbled awkwardly, thrown off balance by both Misty's push and the heavy shotgun in his hands. The momentum of her shove threw him hard enough forward that he slammed against the corner of the nearby machine wall. The impact, as minor as it really was, still jolted him. The panic and confusion caused by her fake-out was adding to it, she was sure.

Misty wasted no time to admire her handiwork, however. She was already well on her way down the narrow passage that faced opposite to where the opened military chest lay by the time the boy had figured out what was going on. She ran as hard as she could, pushed her legs to run as fast as they could go. Behind her, she could hear an aggravated curse and a scream so rage-filled that she knew right then and there that she had to run even faster.

And she didn't hesitate to do so.

But just as she did, the first blast from the boy's shotgun rang out and struck. There was a hard impact, like someone punching her, and then a sharp, horrible pain raced through her body. And with it, all thoughts of winning disappeared from Misty's mind.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1st AMERICAN BLITZ**_

Made to look like a complete fool by Misty Greer in her desperate attempt to escape, Brian Addison has lashed out in the most vicious way possible. Quick to pull the trigger to end the life of someone he barely knew. Now precariously balanced between the madness spawned by 'the Blitz' and his own deteriorating mental state due to a situation beyond his control, Brian gains a frightening new insight into not just himself but the insidious 'kill or be killed game' as a whole.

But will this new insight offer him what he needs to ultimately survive long enough to win?

**Coming soon, "A Fool's Errand",**

**Chapter 7 of **_**1st AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

No true _Author's Note_ this week. Just a quick thank you to everyone who is still reading (especially you Heather and your detailed review!) and another awesome shout out to _Kelley A_! Thanks for the _Favorites_ add and the nice words of encouragement! You were pretty much the main reason I tried to get this chapter done as quickly as possible! By the way, I never got your MSN invite so please don't take that as meaning I don't want to chat with you.

Glad I managed to create at least one character that you liked so far…LOL!

Enjoy the chapter and leave feedback if you can!

Happy 4th of July (which I guess doesn't apply to you _Kelley_…LOL!) to everyone and be safe!


	10. A Fool's Errand

**1****st**** AMERICAN BLITZ**

* * *

**CHAPTER 7**

**Boys, No. 01**

**Brian Addison**

**"****A Fool's Errand"**

* * *

Palms, sweaty and slick, tried desperately to regrip the stock and barrel of the shotgun. In his mind, a mad rush of rampaging emotions tore through the gray apathy which was once his only source of safety. The loud noise unleashed by the weapon of death held in his awkward hands – its powerful kick throwing him back in aggravated surprise – left a harsh ringing in his ears. It was accompanied a seconds later by a sharp scream of pain.

A few feet away from him, the cause of his safe, apathetic world collapsing was leaning against a wall of interlocking pipework in obvious pain. The girl turned to face him. She raised a trembling hand to her bloodied upper arm with wide and disbelieving eyes giving him a brief, accusing stare. But before he could steady himself enough for another shot, the girl turned from him with hurried panic and realization. Pushing away from the wall opposite to the side where his shot had ricocheted, she took up a wobbly run down the remainder of the passageway.

His eyes narrowed as an unchecked rage boiled through the mad cacophony in his head.

It was all her fault! This was all happening because of her! She was the reason why everything was going wrong! Why _he_ was feeling all wrong! Because of her showing up, he hadn't the chance to take his medication. And now, that peace was gone! He had to get rid of her if he wanted the chance to get it back. That meant she had to die! SHE HAD TO DIE!

Straightening, Brian Addison gave an angry growl as he hefted the shotgun and placed the butt of the stock against the crook of his arm and shoulder clumsily – imitating what he'd seen them do on those TV action shows. Returning it to a position where the heavy weapon was pointed down the narrow passage the injured girl was attempting to flee through, he lined her exposed back up with the barrel. Brian's finger caressed the trigger as several different emotions raced through his mind and heart.

But only one of those hated feelings really mattered to him.

With only a cold chill to indicate some sort of lingering guilt for his actions, Brian pulled back on the trigger. The shotgun kicked again and he staggered back, unable to see if he'd hit the bitch or not. The burning pain in his shoulder from the shotgun's constant kick was getting worse. He wanted to scream. He wanted to yell out in frustration at what was happening to him. But instead, something closer to a laugh worked its way into his throat without reason. Brian could hear a hoarse giggle echo disturbingly in his ears.

Was he losing his mind?

There was a brief, dawning gloom of realization. A dark room full of people he didn't know. A horrifying knowledge that he'd missed his prescribed dosage. The return of those first few emotions. The beginning of his end.

Yes. He remembered how it all started. He remembered where it all began.

_**-O-**_

_His world had gone from gray to black._

_And then, from black back to gray._

_The time between was indiscernible._

_He'd groggily awakened to his usual apathetic world with a dry throat and stomach pain that he couldn't explain. But it was a world very different from the way it'd been before. This time it was full of panicked, frightened voices. Not the jovial ones full of laughter he'd heard on the plane shortly before he'd fallen asleep. They rang out from everywhere; from every direction. But his reaction was the same as always._

_Indifference._

_It wasn't like Brian didn't care about what was happening around him. It was more like he couldn't. At least not while the Eskalith CR, __Thorazine and Zyprexa __were still flowing through his system. But he didn't have a choice, really. Either he dealt with the feelings of disconnection and grayness that his pills caused or he could go back to the rapid-cycling mood swings between depression and mania. Whether he liked it or not, Brian needed that stability in his life._

_Even if the medication made his world a much darker and lifeless place._

_Most of what was happening around him in the briefing room seemed like some hazy, half-remembered dream. Images and voices overlapped each other in a smoky swirl of colorless memory, pockmarked with momentary bursts of sensation that pointed toward an awakening of stronger feelings within him. That alone had indicated to him that his gray world of safety was coming to an end._

_How long had it been since he'd last taken his dosage? Eight hours? Nine? Since before he'd boarded the private jet? How long?_

_Brian felt his fingers probing for the pill bottle when the gunshot filled his dull, sluggish world with an icy, terrible sensation._

_Fear._

_But even that feeling couldn't erase his apathy. A boy was wounded and everyone else was cowering against the far wall. Yet, Brian remained standing where he'd awakened; lingering because he couldn't force himself to care enough to move with the others. It wasn't until he felt someone's hand wrap around his arm to yank him along did he actually budge. He assumed it was someone from his school who had done so._

_After that, everything else that followed did so in that slow, hazy way that reminded him that his medication was still active. But more and more that comforting silence in his mind was giving way to a distant rumble of unwanted emotion; emotion that he couldn't control. Sensation and feeling were returning; dangerous joy to drown out the secure indifference. It wouldn't be too long before his world of safety would fade away._

_He was quick to return his hands to the pockets of his slacks. His fingers probed their interior until they happened upon the familiar shape of his pill bottle. But Brian didn't have the chance to remove it. His name rang out against the cracking grayness of his safe world, loud and clear in his ears. He knew that he didn't dare to hesitate but his apathy almost made him._

_Brian had to force himself to move. But once he did, everything happened in an odd flash of ashen memory. Up to the front. Grab the canteen. Grab the GPS handheld. Walk to the door. Receive the envelope. Get collared. Shoved out into the hallway. That was the way it had happened. In two more minutes, it would happen to someone else. That realization and the awareness of his returning fear pushed his legs to move._

_It wasn't too long before he found himself not just walking down the hallway, but running through it. The flat, blankness caused by his medications was quickly being replaced by strengthening terror and panic. How long since his last dosage? For his mind to already be _this_ close to collapse meant that he'd been out for a lot longer than just a few hours. How much longer did he have left?_

_Trying to grab hold of that emotionless silence, Brian struggled to wrap himself in what remained to ward off the discordant noise of feeling that was coming to dominate his mind. If he let them return, if he allowed them reign over him; he would become lost in the hellish chaos that would come with them. And if he let that happen, he was as good as dead._

_Trying to distract himself, he instead tried to convince himself that the fact he'd been first to leave the room and the first to use the GPS handheld meant something. Brian made it seem important for him to think that so he wouldn't focus on the poor state of his mind. Not like it really helped though. In the end, it just seemed pointless and inane. No matter what, it wouldn't help him to forget about the chaotic feeling intensifying within him._

_Then again, maybe it was a good thing that the effects of his meds were wearing off. Brian wasn't sure about any of the others, but he was actually pretty good with electronics. Of course, it was only when his medication allowed it. Usually the gray haze which kept him safe would also stifle his talents and creativity. However, with the disappearing dullness of the pills, his mind was now alive and open enough to remember what to do._

_But then, that was the real danger of his meds wearing off, wasn't it?_

_Yet even with that thought in his head, programming the waypoint for his weapon crate into the GPS wasn't problematic. At least, that time it wasn't. Being on the move hadn't given him any trouble, either. He couldn't be sure about the next, if and when it happened; especially if he'd taken his medication by then._

_From that point on, he continued to make his way through the Quarters Module by following the route mapped out by his GPS; doing so despite the fact that each step he took brought his neutral world that much closer to vanishing. The effects of his meds were wearing off and the safety that they offered was slowly leaving him._

_He_ needed _to take his dosage. But he couldn't take that chance. He couldn't risk going after his pill bottle until he'd managed to put some distance between him and everyone who would follow in his wake. And on top of that – with his throat being so dry – he needed to find some water as well. Otherwise, he might just end up choking on the very thing that would help to keep him sane during the twisted madness about to happen around him._

_Brian distantly wondered if his reasoning was due to the escalating fear caused by his lack of medication._

_He moved quick enough to avoid meeting up with anyone else released from the room. Following the path laid out by his GPS thoroughly, Brian made it to the platform level floor quicker than he thought he would. He wasn't too sure, but figured it took about ten to fifteen minutes to do so with all the ducking and checking he did to keep from running into anyone else._

_The door he found at the end of the lengthy hallway on the bottom floor was heavy and hard to push open. It did so with a loud squeal of unoiled hinges which made him pause to look behind him before continuing. But he managed to widen it enough to squeeze through and make it to the other side. Once he straightened himself, he checked his handheld._

_According to the GPS, Brian had exited on the north side of the Quarters Module. It also indicated that his designated crate wasn't just close but nothing more than a few yards to his left; somewhere near the module's western most side. That was something unexpected, given what the Omatsu woman had said during her 'orientation'. And for that same reason, its convenience set about an unsettling, familiar sensation in his head that filled him with suspicion._

_It being there was definitely a little _too_ convenient for his liking._

_The air outside the Quarters Module was humid and muggy but carried a slight coolness on it that he assumed was from the ocean. It was much better than the stuffiness inside the building he'd just exited. Lowering the GPS handheld, Brian slid it back into the right pocket of his slacks. As he did, his fingers brushed over the bulge of the pill bottle. The light feel of the canteen slung across his chest brought a new series of thoughts to his disquieted mind._

_Brian could've – should have – tried to choke down at least one of his pills, but he decided against it. His throat was just too dry to attempt it. He needed to find some water. The Quarters Module had plenty of water sources, he was sure. But it also had frantic and frightened students running through its hallways, desperate to do anything to keep themselves alive. And that was why he wanted to wait until he could find another source that would be safer for him to draw from._

_But how much longer did he really have?_

_Besides, the pills were big enough to give him trouble if he tried to swallow them without water, _especially_ with how dry his throat was. The water would help them to go down easier. And once that happened, he would be able to return to his noiseless world of safety; a place free of mood-swings and chaotic dissonance that would come with his descent into mania or depression._

_Something that Brian knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the situation he was trapped in would inevitably lead to._

_He turned in the direction that the GPS had indicated the military chest would be. He didn't have to look very far or hard to find it. The long, dark green box was sitting there undisturbed, right where the handheld had specified. It couldn't have been more than a few yards away from him._

_Brian stared at it like it was the most dangerous thing in the world. His apathy and disinterest in the things happening around him was no longer shielding him from the horrific reality he'd awakened to. That silent haze of indifference born of his medication was lifting and the seductive clamor of life without the gray safety they offered caressed every corner of his mind with sensation and feeling._

_Brian could almost feel his mind being rewritten; rewired by the doubt that was slowly creeping into to it because of his freedom from the meds. Doubt that told him he was better off living without his medication. Doubt which screamed that the disorder in his head was the natural state, the way things were supposed to be; not that hushed fog of apathy._

_He took a few awkward steps in the direction of the chest, stopped, took a long, deep breath and then continued. His mind was full of remembered chaos; filling slowly with the unrestrained turmoil he'd chosen to live without. Its disharmonious noise was drowning out the noiseless security of his dull, medicated world. By the time he reached the chest, there were questions in his head that weren't there before._

_What should he do? Should he trust the GPS and what it said? Had the Japanese woman been lying? Was this just a trap? Would opening this box kill him? How many others had left the room? Did they have their weapons? Were they anywhere close to him? What if they_ were_?_ _What if they were creeping up on him right now?_

_Brian's eyes widened and he swung around in a rush of panic. But nothing was behind him. No one was tipping up behind him. He slowly turned back in the direction of the military chest. But he couldn't force himself to relax. Without his meds, he was growing more on edge with each passing minute. If he didn't find a source of water soon and take his dosage, he would be too far gone to make himself do so. He would be too enraptured by that discordant, ecstatic joy to care about anything else. And that would be the beginning of the end for him._

_Unexpectedly, a familiar sound of squealing hinges touched Brian's ears. It was faint. If it hadn't been carried along the light breeze flowing through the narrow passage, he wouldn't have heard it. His heart began to race. Another uncomfortable feeling swept through him. He found himself whirling around to face the door he'd just come out of._

_But nothing was there._

_Brian's eyes grew tight. His throat clenched. His fingers twitched about nervously as he tried to look everywhere at once. Where? Where was that noise coming from? Who was near him? Where_ were _they?_

_He turned again._

_Nothing._

_Where were they? Where were they hiding?_

_Brian made a complete circle, frantic mind drowning in a toxic pool of paranoia as he searched desperately for the source of his growing anxiety. The world around him became a dizzying blur. Where were they? He knew they were out there! Why didn't they just come out? Why did they have to play this stupid game with him?_

_As he completed yet another anxious turn, his panicked gray eyes fell on the military chest partially tucked into the shallow alcove in the Quarters Module wall. Paranoid thoughts about the chest being booby-trapped and exploding once he tried opened it were crushed; buried under a wave of suspicion that there were people hiding somewhere in the shadows surrounding him. Waiting for the right moment to attack. Waiting for the right moment to come out and_ kill _him!_

_Brian's hand was in his left pocket before he knew it. His feet almost seemed to be shuffling toward the dark green box on their own. Silent apathy was warring heavily with chaotic noise; the medicated security offered by his pills giving way to the penetrating cacophony of emotional madness he wanted to keep himself hidden from. Trembling fingers pushed past the flimsy index card and wrapped around the key. His head swung about wildly, eyes darting from one shadowy space to the next._

_Where? Where were they? How much longer before they attacked him? How much long before they tried to kill him?_

_He fell to his knees in front of the military chest and fumbled to pull the key out of his pocket. He tried to swallow but his dry throat made it feel like he was choking down mud. Brian found himself stifling a cough as he finally removed the key from his pocket and inserted into the keyhole with his unsteady hands. Raspy breath escaped his mouth as he nervously licked his lips and a jumble of panicked thoughts raced through his head._

_Should he turn the key?_

_Had the woman lied?_

_Was the chest going to explode and kill him?_

_Who were those people hiding in the shadows?_

_When were they going to attack him?_

_Where had that noise come from?_

_Pills…he had to take his pills!_

_Too much noise…_

_Too much feeling…_

_Too much…chaos…!_

_Hard to think…_

_Turn the key._

_Turn the key?_

_Turn the key!_

_Brian's hand twitched and the key in the lock turned with an audible _click_. He immediately closed his eyes and waited for the fiery explosion to consume him. But there was no heat or fire. No momentary roar as the fire sucked the oxygen from the air and roasted him alive. There was only a low droning of overworked machinery and the humid coolness of the ocean air._

_He opened his eyes and looked down with a confused, harried expression. He wasn't dead? There was no booby trap? Another uncomfortable chill ran up his spine. And then he remembered why he'd rushed over to the military chest in the first place. _

_Taking his fingers off the key, Brian placed hands both upon the unlatched lid and pushed it open in panicked haste. Though he shouldn't have, he couldn't help but pause when he saw what lay within the dark green box. Tucked in a niche shaped and designed for it, was a shotgun._

_Brian felt himself gulp unconscionably._

_The weapon was long and slender, with two black barrels stacked atop the other. Except for the stock – which had some kind of mounted ammo pouch holding six shotgun shells – and the grip under the barrels, the rest of the gun was black as well. Everything else had a deep, wood-like finish._

_Hesitantly reaching into the chest, Brian laid his hands against the shotgun's cool surface. For the first time in what seemed forever, the chaos in his head quieted. Though his gray world of safety hadn't returned to him, the rampaging emotions had lessened somewhat and subsided._

_That happened sometimes; brief and fleeting moments of clarity between the turmoil caused by his unrestrained emotional clutter. Brian often wished that these instances of lucidity would last longer. If they did, he wouldn't_ need _the meds._

_But even with the jumble inside his head stilled, he remained fully aware of his situation. And what he had heard. There was no mistaking what that noise had been. Obviously, there was more than one door that led out of the Quarters Module. It wouldn't make any sense if there weren't._

_Gripping the shotgun uncomfortably with both hands, Brian pulled it from its niche and rose from the deck. It was heavier than he'd thought it would be. But the weight of the weapon wasn't the only thing oppressive about it. What he could do with it – what he'd been _told _to do with it – also weighed him down. But what choice did he really have? Kill or be killed. And whether or not he was neutral to the world around him while on his meds, Brian sure about one thing._

_He wasn't ready to die yet._

_Before moving away from the chest, he took a quick look to see what else lay inside. Afterall, the Omatsu woman had said that there were food items in each chest. And he _was_ getting hungry, despite his anxiousness and fear._

_His gray eyes found the two thick brown packages he assumed contained what little food they would be given. What had the woman called them? MREs? Beside them was some kind of heavy-duty backpack and black bandolier full of what looked like extra shotgun shells._

_Brian's eyes widened when he saw that. A surge of anger flashed through him. Holding the shotgun between the crock of his arm and hand, he reached down with his other and slammed the top of the chest shut. After that, he backed away from it like it was a poisonous snake._

They really do want us to kill each other! Those sick bastards! Those sick, fucking bastards!

_And just like that, he recalled the noise he'd heard not even two minutes ago. Trying hard to hold on to calm that was pacifying the chaos that had tore through his head earlier; Brian gazed down the two directions the passage he was standing in led._

_In one direction, he could see the ocean stretching on well into the horizon. The other, from what he could tell, just tracked across to the other side of the rig to what he assumed would be the same view. An endless ocean with no land in sight…and no hope of escape._

_He did notice, however, that there were to be two turn-offs; one further down the passageway and the other only a few yards from where he was now standing. Fear and paranoia pressed through the noiselessness in his head. If that led to a passage which bordered the Quarters Module, couldn't there be a second exit located somewhere down that way? Another door to escape through? A door for another _student_ to escape through? Brian's anxiety spiked as he remembered the squealing of hinges from earlier._

_And then he knew exactly what he had to do, exactly where he had to go._

_**-O-**_

He yelled out again in frustration. That was how Brian had ended up where he was now, holding a shotgun and trying to kill some girl he'd never met before. Where had everything gone so wrong? This wasn't what he intended to happen! This wasn't how it was supposed to be!

The fragile peace that he'd tried so hard to hold on to was gone, stripped away by the girl who had tricked him so she could escape. He had tried to offer companionship. She returned that offer with sarcasm. He had tried to help her by suggesting they teamed up. She repaid that kindness with nothing but contempt and then followed it up with a lie.

A lie which forced that mad clatter of seductive emotional carnage back into his mind.

As Brian righted himself and pointed the shotgun back down the passageway, he caught a glimpse of another corner on the right-hand side that led into a different passage than the two he'd seen earlier. Of the blond-haired girl, there was no sign. That meant only one thing. She must've had made the corner before he'd taken his shot.

Giving a loud curse, he lowered the weapon and made frantic dash toward the corner. He couldn't let her get away. Not after what she'd done to him. She'd made him look like a fool! A fucking _fool_! For that, the bitch was going to pay!

He almost passed up the narrow passageway she had slipped into, rounding the corner at a run and careening shoulder-first into the wall. Brian grunted as he adjusted the heavy weight of the shotgun. Gray eyes wild, he scanned the shadowy alley for the blond-headed girl. She was only a few feet ahead of him and seemed to be moving at a much slower pace than he would've figured. Why was she moving so slow? Hadn't he only hit her in the arm? Did it even matter now? Being as close as he was now, his next shot would pretty much kill her.

With no hesitation, Brian raised the shotgun and leveled it at the slow-moving girl's back. A sudden impulse made him open his mouth and yell, "Hey!"

The girl froze in her steps and Brian's finger tensed on the trigger.

"You should've joined me, _bitch_!" was all he shouted as he fired the shotgun.

But instead of a loud bang and that brutal kick against his sore shoulder, all Brian heard a dull _click_. He blinked down at the weapon in confusion. In front of him, the girl – still holding her bleeding arm – risked a glance back his way; her wide eyes showing fear and relief.

Anger pressed itself through the jumble of emotions in his head. He pulled back on the trigger again. All he got was another audible _click_ from the shotgun. He felt a discordant scream working its way up his throat.

And then, comprehension struck.

Was he out of ammunition? Already? But how? It was a shotgun! It should've at least had more than two shots left in it, right? That's the way it was on TV! That's the way it was in all those games he'd ever played! Why did this one just have _two_ shots to it? Then he remembered the extra shells contained in the pouch strapped to the stock of the shotgun.

Quickly lowering the weapon, Brian was about to give it a good look to find out how to reload it when he heard a sudden shuffling of feet and hasty footfalls coming toward him. He only had time to look up before the blond-haired girl slammed into him with her shoulder. Brian felt the weight and momentum of her body shove him backwards. He staggered back, crashing hard into that same wall he'd hit earlier while chasing her down.

Striking the wall back-first like he did sent a wave of numbness sweeping through his body. Momentarily losing feeling in his hands, the shotgun fell from his grip and clattered against the metal deck. He felt himself slumping as well, sliding down the wall and to the deck as his legs gave out. But before his body had time to fully settle upon the plate floor beneath him, something brutal and hard struck him in the stomach. He heard himself gasp as a vicious burning sensation sliced through his midsection.

"I…don't _join_…losers!" the girl yelled in a heavy, tight voice from in front of him before lashing out with another swift kick.

Brian gasped as pain piling on top of pain forced the air from his lungs. He couldn't keep himself from crumpling over onto the deck. His abdomen was ablaze with an agony that was much more real than he wished it to be. He hungrily tried to suck in air to replace what was lost. His mind was blind, out of control with chaotic thoughts and enticing emotion.

Was the girl still there? Was she going to kick him again? Or would she kill him? He'd tried to kill her. Wouldn't it be right for her to get that chance with him? The gun wouldn't fire! Omatsu _had_ tricked him! Why couldn't he think straight? Why couldn't his mind just be quiet? _WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE SO LOUD?_

On instinct alone, a hand slid painfully to the pocket where his pills were. Everything was too loud! He couldn't think straight anymore! He needed quiet! His dosage. He needed to take his dosage. He needed that quiet world full of neutral dullness. He didn't want the chaotic one full of pleasure and noise! He just wanted quiet. He just wanted peace again!

Brian's hand entered his pocket and wrapped around the pill bottle. A sense of safety and relief pushed through the madness in his head for a brief, fleeting second before being swallowed up again by the alluring cacophony drowning out everything else. He pulled the bottle from his pocket and toward his face.

A slight grin pressed itself on his lips.

Soon, everything would be quiet again. He'd be able to think again and find a way out of this madhouse. It was going to be hard swallow the pills with his throat being as dry as it was, but he would rather risk choking on the pills than living another minute in that hellish world of disorganized noise and bewitching emotion. Pushing back the burning pain in his abdomen and still trying to catch a good breath, Brian moved his other hand toward the pill bottle so he could open it.

And then, more pain found him.

He found himself screaming breathlessly as something heavy pressed down hard on the wrist of the hand holding his pill bottle. It was almost enough pressure to break his wrist. Brian tried to keep hold of the bottle; he tried to force his mind to shut out the pain jabbing through his fingers. But he couldn't. His fingers opened and the pill bottle slipped loose.

In a panic, he made a desperate grab for the bottle with his other hand. But a blur of white kicked the bottle away before he could grab it. It skittered noisily across the plate-metal deck, the pills within rattling against the interior of the bottle. Brian's eyes grew wide.

_NO!_

"You…you fucking _shot_ me, you…jackass!" the angry, pain-filled voice of the girl hollered down at him again. "Do you…hear me? YOU…FUCKING…SHOT…ME! S-so guess what? You fucking hurt me, so I'm gonna…I'M gonna fucking hurt you too! I bet those pills…are pretty important to…to you, aren't they? Have…fun…looking for them…you stupid…dumbfuck!"

There was another shuffle of feet and then she was gone. In what direction, he didn't know. Or care. The girl was the least of his worries now.

Gray eyes frozen, empty stare interrupted only when he blinked; Brian felt like he'd been kicked in the gut again. His fingers twitched sporadically, as if they were trying to grip the pill bottle that was no longer there. In his mind, the ecstatic chaos continued to swallow up what was left of that dull world which had kept him safe for so very long.

A dozen different emotions pushed through the confused jumble in his head.

Sadness.

Loneliness.

Hatred.

Fear.

Paranoia.

Joy.

Disgust.

Anger.

Out of them all, the hate and anger burned brightest. He could feel those emotions coiling around in his mind like a viper readying itself to strike. It was frightening, yet felt somewhat comforting.

So was the laughter.

A low giggle at first, it echoed out in every direction. Brian couldn't stop himself. He didn't _want_ to stop himself. Growing louder and louder, it became more hysterical and maniacal with every second that went by.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

Nick Lang is desperate to find a safe place to camp out so he can wait for his best friend. Instead, he finds himself saddled with the other half of the pampered princess duo, Brenda Hughes. And she seems hell-bent on reminding him that he belongs to Alisia Benetti and no one else. Even though Nick doesn't want to just abandon the girl to possibly be murdered by students who might have already given in to the insanity around them, he finds himself treading dangerously close to considering that very idea.

But is he truly heartless enough to give up the life of a person he cannot stand for that of his best friend?

**Coming soon, "The True Cost of Friendship",**

**Chapter 8 of **_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I'm treading some very dangerous ground here, I know. Bipolar Disorder. I cannot tell you how much research I had to do on this subject to _try_ and make Brian Addison sound legit. Honestly, I _still_ don't think I managed it. I'll tell you, writing up a character with Bipolar Disorder is not an easy thing to do. I commend anyone who can pull it off effectively. With that said, I'm really not sure what to think about this chapter. Brian Addison reeks eerily of Kazuo Kiriyama in the beginning with his initial indifference to the world. But in the end, he turned out to be about as much like Kiriyama as Misty Greer turned out to be like Mitsuko Souma. While I'm unsure about how the chapter will be accepted by my readers, I do admit that as hard as Brian was to write; it felt very fulfilling to read the chapter and get pulled into his character and see the world through his eyes.

In some ways, Brian Addison represents how I feel some days; trapped in a gray, lifeless world so dull that nothing you love can bring you an ounce of happiness. And then again, on some days I have so many ideas bouncing around in my head that the clutter and 'noise' makes me feel like I'm losing my mind. I suppose that all of the characters that I create for this story and others I write represent different aspects of my personality, but Brian comes very close to expressing what I feel on a day-to-day basis.

I hope that doesn't mean what I think it means…LOL!

Anyways, I just want to take this time to give some well-deserved shout-outs to:

_**Grindhouse Double Feature **_**(the former**_** Kelley A**_**):** The original reviewer who gave me my first serious critique. Thanks for your continued support and I hope that I can keep making _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_ enough of an interest to keep you around until the end! Oh and thanks for the pre-beta read! It was much appreciated!

_**QuoteMyFoot **_**(the former**_** Holliequ**_**):** A recommendee (yes, I know that's not a word…LOL!) of Kelley's who stormed right in and put me in my place…LOL! I mean, wow. I've never had any of my writing ripped apart and dissected the way it was by you. Thank you so much for that! It was needed and oh so very long coming! After getting nothing but praise for my writing from friends and family, it was refreshing to have someone come in and critique it with a desire to make me better myself. And that's something I appreciate very much!

_**The Wax Factory:**_ Another recommendee of Kelley's who has graced my review page with an insight that no one else managed to grasp (or if they did, they just didn't say anything) the odd little social commentary thing I placed in _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_ about the status of the teenagers in the United States. It was nice to get some feedback on that! Your review (along with Kelley's and Holli's) are what's keeping me working on this story. I hope you do come back for the next chapter and the ones you have yet to read!

That's it for the shout-outs. Thanks again to everyone who reviews, views or just clicks _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_ by accident! See you on the Flip-Side!


	11. The Blitz: Update No 1 Chapters 1 To 7

**THE BLITZ: UPDATE CHAPTERS 1 - 7

* * *

**

**RULES OF 'THE BLITZ':**

A) All members of the schools involved MUST kill each other until one survivor remains. B) All participants in 'the Blitz' are supplied with a ration of food (two MREs), a one quart canteen for gathering water and a GPS to aid them in navigating the 'combat zone'. Weapon distribution is left up to the whims of the current 'Blitz' supervisor. C) All students will wear the PISCES PRC-001XD (Personal Injection Selector Collared Execution System Prison Riot Control Series 001 Experimental Device), an Americanized version of the Nationalist Commonwealth's Model Guadalcanal No. 22. D) Each student will be implanted with a RFID chip to track their positions within the 'combat zone'. E) Students are free to move about the 'combat zone' but must listen for announcements (once every six hours) informing them of the participants who have been killed. F) While there is no overarching time limit (i.e. three days, two weeks, etc.), there is a 'twelve-hour kill clock' where at least one student must die within said timeframe. G) If there are no kill(s) made within that twelve-hour period of time, one of the PISCES PRC-001XDs will be chosen at random and activated.

**LOCATION OF 'THE BLITZ':**

The _Kasanagi-Eto._ It is a DrillSea East Aquarius-designed, semi-submersible offshore drilling platform in the East China Sea about 250 miles from the coast of the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan. It has a length of 382 feet and a width of 317 feet. The _Kasanagi-Eto_ has five main modules; the Process Module, the Power Module, the Quarters Module, Well-bay Module and the Drilling Module. All areas are accessible except the bridge/command deck, the floor directly beneath it and certain key areas of the platform that could cause problems if allowed to be accessed by the participants. These are locations are off-limits to the students participating in 'the Blitz'. All such areas are permanent 'Danger Zones' and any student who tries to enter them will be killed via PISCES PRC-001XD collar activation.

**SUPERVISOR OF 'THE BLITZ':**

Omatsu Reiko. She has been a Supervisor of 'the Program' for seven years; currently beginning her eighth. She has received high recommendations and numerous accolades during those years. Her current reported success rate is 96.9%. Her selection for running the initial 'American Blitz' was unanimously approved by the Imperial Diet and the MERA Committee. High and successful results are expected.

**HIGHLIGHTS AND ENCOUNTERS:**

_Chapter 1 "Awake & Arrival", Briefing Room, 3__rd__ Floor:_ Students from various American high schools awaken in a dark briefing room and come face-to-face with Omatsu Reiko. She informs them that they will be participating in something called 'the Blitz' and that they have to kill each other until only one remains. Omatsu summarizes how 'the Program' came to be in the former Japan and how it has helped to reduce the problems that they once had with their nation's youth. Jonathan Chiang (Boys, No. 03) angrily voices his opinion and is shot in the leg for his delinquent outburst. Robert Cheveyo (Boys, No. 02) tries to remain calm in light of the insane situation erupting around him. He fails and ends up vomiting up all he ate on the plane.

_Chapter 2 "Instruction on How to Kill Your Best Friend", Briefing Room, 3__rd__ Floor:_ 'The Blitz' begins. Charlene Rae Dolan (Girls, No. 04) promises her friend Rahdi Patel (Girls, No. 11) that she will protect the both of them. She takes mental note of both Brian Addison (Boys, No. 01) and Dillon Maxwell (Boys, No. 10), her hunting instincts automatically labeling them as potential threats. The realization of what she was doing, however, makes her feel ashamed. The rules on 'the Blitz' are read, to the disbelief of all present. After almost getting shot because of her inability to conceal her hatred of Omatsu Reiko, Charlene reluctantly questions the American Government's involvement 'the Blitz' and gets an unexpected answer from 'the Program' Supervisor that elements of the government are involved. After the 'orientation' is finished, the first student released is Brian Addison; who is collared before he leaves the room.

_Chapter 3 "The Beggars and the Elite", Hallway, 3__rd__ Floor:_ Alisia Benetti (Girls, No. 01) has an encounter with the siblings JoAnne (Girls, No. 02) and Sadie (Girls, No. 03) Dechon while aimlessly fleeing down a hallway. She and Sadie bump into each other, knocking them both to the floor. Alisia recovers first and attempts to attack a downed Sadie with her remaining shoe (the other was lost earlier when she tripped and fell) but is thwarted by JoAnne. This leads to a one-sided verbal confrontation between them that nearly becomes violent. In the end, Sadie convinces her sister that she is okay and that they should leave before someone else shows up. Still scared for her life as she gathers up everything she'd dropped to attack Sadie and again takes up a panicked run through the corridor, Alisia nevertheless resolves to kill JoAnne if they should ever meet again.

_Chapter 4 "Against the Clock", Hallway, 3__rd__ Floor:_ A chance meeting erupts into a brutal encounter between Jonathan Chiang and Eduardo Escobar (Boys, No. 04) when the former openly attacks the latter. The fight is very one-sided, with Jonathan gaining the upper-hand rather quickly and successfully injuring Eduardo by ramming his face into a wall. This act succeeds in breaking Escobar's nose severely. However, after remembering an event from his past, Jonathan has a sudden attack of conscience and lets Eduardo go before he can go too far. The chubby Mexican boy crawls away in pain as Jonathan laments about whether or not he'll even live to make it to the end.

_Chapter 5 "I'd Do Anything to Keep You Safe", Office, 2__nd__ Floor:_ While hiding in an office to rest up and let her sister Sadie recover from a minor asthma attack, JoAnne almost loses her will to continue. She becomes convinced that there is nothing that she can do to save herself or her sister and it openly drives her to tears. JoAnne becomes so distraught that she cannot look Sadie in the face or lie to her about their chances of surviving 'the Blitz'. But when Sadie begins to lose her will as well, JoAnne finds her resolve again. But they are soon interrupted by Eduardo Escobar when he begs to be let into the locked office with them. This forces JoAnne to act to prevent anything from happening to Sadie. She uses the office door to her advantage and reinjures Eduardo's nose. When he angrily makes a grab for Sadie and takes hold of her arm, JoAnne kicks him in the groin and then escapes with Sadie in tow.

_Chapter 6 "Murder Games", Exterior Access Alley (West Side), Platform Level:_ Misty Greer (Girls, No. 05) carefully plans out her next move after escaping from the Quarters Module without encountering anyone else. Her path to her weapon's chest, however, forces herself to face her fear of the dark by traveling down an Access Alley shadowed by the setting sun. Though it takes more than a few minutes to do it, she finally reaches the end of the short pathway, only to find an opened weapon's chest that isn't hers. Before she can do anything, Brian Addison puts a shotgun to her head and tells her not to move. A smart remark made by her earns Misty a rough shove in the back of her head with the barrel of Brian's shotgun along with him screaming at her. After regaining some of his composure, he tells her to stand up and face him and then suggests that they team up to watch each other's backs. This angers Misty, who can't stand the idea of being teamed up with anyone. But realizing that Brian is already on edge, she decides to instead 'politely decline' his offer until she sees an opening for escape which she seizes on immediately. Using his obvious fear and paranoia against him, Misty tricks Brian and attempts to run away. He shoots at her with his shotgun and scores a glancing hit on her arm.

_Chapter 7 "A Fool's Errand", Exterior Access Alley (North Side), Platform Level:_ Already suffering from paranoia and rapid-cycling emotions, Brian Addison shoots at the injured and fleeing Misty Greer in an effort to put an end to her before she cause him more harm. He has a brief flashback of his initial awakening in the dark conference room and all the events that led him to where he was now. When he realizes that the second shot missed her because she ducked into an adjacent alley, he recklessly pursues Misty with the intent to kill her. Not realizing that she is again struggling with her fear of the dark, Brian raises the shotgun and tries to shoot. But nothing happens because he has run out of ammo. Seizing the opportunity after realizing this, Misty turns and attacks him; knocking him to the ground and kicking him repeatedly in the stomach while screaming insulting taunts at him. When Brian blankly attempts to take his pills after he thinks she has finished and left the area for good, Misty reveals that she is still there and vengefully steps on his wrist before kicking the bottle away. After one last taunt, she runs off and leaves him alone to face the reality of his situation. Left there with no means to stop his escalating Bipolar Disorder, Brian begins to laugh hysterically.

**THE LIVING AND THE DEAD:**

Average Ages of Participants – Between 14 and 16 years old.

Boys: 14 – Girls: 15 – Total: 29

'The Blitz' Cover Story: Depending on school size, the top finalist (limited to four) for schools selected to participate in the 'National French Essay Contest' will get an all-expense paid trip to Paris, France.

NOTE: The 'Injured' Status only applies to open wounds, broken bones and severe lacerations that could possible impair them during the course of 'the Blitz'.

**Arizona – Red Rock High School**

**Boys**

**#1 – Brian Addison (STATUS: LOSS OF MENTAL STABILITY – MISSED REQUIRED DOASGE OF BIPOLAR MEDICATION – BUT STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#7 – Andrew "Andy" Higgins (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#6 – Karen Heiser (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**California – Santa Domingo High School**

**Boys**

**#3 – Jonathan "Jonny" Chiang (STATUS: INJURED – GUNSHOT WOUND TO THE THIGH – BUT STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#12 – Emilio Salazar (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

_None Selected_

**Colorado – Cold Rivers High School**

**Boys**

**#6 – Trevor Gates (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#7 – Madelyn "Maddie" Higgins (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#12 – Wendy Prince (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Florida – Bayside High School**

**Boys**

_None Selected_

**Girls**

**#5 – Misty Greer (STATUS: INJURED – GRAZING SHOTGUN WOUND TO THE UPPER ARM – BUT STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#9 – Holly Mathis (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#10 – Rochelle Meyers (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**New Mexico – Bear Ridge High School**

**Boys**

**#2 – Robert "Bobby" Cheveyo (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

_None Selected_

**New York – George R. Diomatti High School**

**Boys**

**#9 – Nicholas "Nick" Lang (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#1 – Alisia "Lisi" Benetti (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#8 – Brenda Hughes (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#14 – Victoria "Vikki" Shaw (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Ohio – Erin Baker High School**

**Boys**

**#10 – Dillon Maxwell III (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#2 – JoAnne Dechon (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#3 – Sadie Dechon (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#13 – Peggy Ryman (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Oregon – Grand Terrace High School**

**Boys**

**#5 – Casey Fuller (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#14 – James "Jimmy" Turner (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#15 – Leslie Thurston (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Pennsylvania – William McHaven High School**

**Boys**

**#11 – Robert "Rob" McKean (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#13 – Derrick Thomas (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

_None Selected_

**Texas – Walker Clemens High School**

**Boys**

**#4 – Eduardo "Eddy" Escobar (STATUS: INJURED – NOSE BROKEN; SEVERE LACERATION ACROSS BRIDGE – BUT STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#8 – LaTrey Johnson (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#4 – Charlene "Charlie" Rae Dolan (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#11 – Rahdi Patel (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**CURRENT ELAPSED TIME: 22 minutes, 34 seconds**

**TOTAL ACTIVE: 29**

**TOTAL INJURED: 3**

**TOTAL DECEASED: 0**

**STUDENTS REMAINING: 29**


	12. Personal Views and Opinions 1

**AN EXCERPT FROM **_**PERSONAL VIEWS AND OPINIONS, THE 1**__**ST**__** AMERICAN BLITZ: FROM THE JOURNALS OF OMATSU REIKO**_

* * *

**Pre-Game, April 16, 2011 – Twelve Days Before 'the Blitz' Execution.**

**1427 hrs**

"Failure.

"It is a word that I am accustomed to and a word that I hate. It's very meaning goes against everything that I have strived to be, everything that I have strived to teach my children. It is a word that cuts deeply into my very soul. And it is something that I tend not to tolerate in any form. Especially from those who serve under me.

"I have just arrived for my third tour of the _Kasanagi-Etō_. I am less than impressed by what I have found. Everything that I had ordered to be functional per my exact specifications was nowhere near ready. Those very orders were sent by my office no less than two weeks ago. I was promised efficiency. It seems that I have instead received lethargy in its place.

"By and far, that is something that I will not tolerate from those under my charge.

"Failure.

"As such, I have been forced to take extreme measures to reinstate the urgency of this refit and had those responsible for this debacle dealt with in the most severe way allowed by my authority as 'the Program' Supervisor. Execution. Their families will receive the fools' belongings and summarily have their government pensions revoked. Tragic yes, but we cannot afford to be giving hand-outs to those who no longer support our bureaucracy with manpower and instead undermine it with failure. The Nationalist Commonwealth is still too financially weak for that. As such, they will pay the ultimate price.

"That being said, it is my sincerest wish that the people who have since replaced those I had executed will have the systems on this floating derelict functioning before the arrival of the American students. I have no wish to give yet another example of what failure will bring. The very thought of the word brings back unsavory memories and this uneasy alliance that my government is now sharing with the United States is not helping in any way to ease them.

"Of course, I cannot help but express my apprehension and, oddly enough, excitement at being chosen for this task. My past experiences with 'things of America' have cut deep wounds into both myself and my family. But I shall not shirk my duties. I have been a 'Program' Supervisor for seven years now and my record speaks for how well I have carried out my assignments. While I do not believe that I will have any trace of sympathy for the foolish, spoiled American children; I will not let my personal feelings of discontent about their society and its effects on our youth drive me to foolishness. I refuse to become another Kitano or any number of past 'Program' Supervisors who let their personal feelings influence their actions.

"Yet, I do find myself wondering that inevitable question of why they decided to choose me?

"After the blunder that 'the Program' was under that fool Kitano, I suppose the Imperial Diet did not wish to take any more chances. The man himself murdered and two students escaped and on the run. An absolutely deplorable situation, in my opinion. I have heard rumors that the escapees – Nanahara Shuuya and Nakagawa Noriko, if I remember the incident reports correctly – have fled to America. How ironic. Perhaps after we aid them with their inability to control their youth, they will be willing to hunt down those traitors and return them to the Nationalist Commonwealth to answer for their crimes.

"But as I have said many times to my peers and subordinates after being told of it, and despite my own personal feelings on this…alliance, the Nationalist Commonwealth needs it. Even after eleven years, we have yet to recover from the Collapse and what little that I have heard regarding this 'contract' seems to give more than it takes. In return, these Americans demand a 'Blitz' be raised against the errant children of their nation to teach them a hard and brutal lesson of what it means to be inheritors of 'the American Dream'. And to execute this so-called 'Blitz' properly, they need me.

"But perhaps there is more to it than that.

"How I view the United States, and the Americans which people her, are composed of two very differing opinions. On the one hand, I respect what the country has managed to achieve in such a short amount of time. To go from an isolated nation still struggling to find itself to one of the most powerful and prosperous countries in the world is truly something to awe at. Yet the people, as diverse as they are, represent – to me – a type of cancerous growth which lies at the heart of that greatness. Or rather, perhaps I should say the youth of the country represent that growth.

"I suppose that statistically, the youth within the United States are exactly where the Nationalist Commonwealth's were during the Collapse Years. But whereas the tragic circumstances and consequences of the Collapse attributed greatly to the decline of our youth and spurred them forward in rebellion and anarchy; the fat, spoiled children of America has had nothing to even equal that lapse until just recently. And even with their country's economy on the verge of a severe decline, even as the drums of wars again beat on the wind for a third time, even as less and less rally behind the banner of the almighty American military machine; these desensitized youths have no want or need of the troubles that their homeland face.

"They care only of themselves and their debaucherous lifestyles. Which, I suppose, should not be surprising considering how spoiled they have become. Yet in my view, it is as much a failure in their character and morals as it the failure of their parents and other adults who refuse to lift a hand to discipline their debased actions. To _reward_ such actions is utterly and disgustingly inexcusable.

"I will confess that I was mostly unaware of this. I knew very little of this 'new' America as the time I spent there was limited to my studies abroad when I was young in an effort to prepare myself for entry into my father's company. No, I only learned of this once-great country's descent through one of my daughters; whose tastes for 'all things American' was as much a constant irritation to me and her other siblings as it was to the rest of my family. I could say that I lay blame on what happened to Junko solely on that debaucherous and senseless lifestyle led by so many of America's teens. But I do not. What happened to my daughter can only be lain at my feet.

"I was the one who did not discipline her properly for her actions. I was the one who let her continue down that depraved path knowing well where it would end. And I was the one who voluntarily entered her name into 'the Program' four years ago. Her screams as the soldiers dragged her away from all that she had ever known still haunt my dreams.

"It was one of the hardest things in the world for me to hear as a mother who loved her daughter. Omatsu Junko a.k.a. Girls #12 killed within the first six hours of the Class 3-C 'Battle Royale' by Kawada Shogo a.k.a. Boys #5. Even though I know what I did at the time was the right thing to do, it still wrenched and nearly tore my heart away from my chest when I saw her mangled body after it had been recovered. Her silky black hair caked with mud and blood. Her smooth face, once so beautiful and effervescent, locked into a rigid, eternal look of terror and insanity. Her body (I later learned after her autopsy that she was raped multiple times shortly before her death at Kawada's hands, the DNA test results from the semen found in her vaginal tract, on her face and on her skirt revealed that he wasn't any of those responsible) was torn and bloodied with several bullet holes tracing a path from her midsection to her chest. It was very obvious that my daughter's death was indeed a hard one. For us both.

"She was – and remains to this day – my greatest failure."


	13. The World We Live In, Part 1

**THE WORLD WE LIVE IN, PART I**

* * *

**THE NATIONALIST COMMONWEALTH OF JAPAN (MILITARY OLIGARCHY)**

Formerly known as Japan, the country underwent a massive and unexpected political shift after the turn of the century due to a substantial economic decline the likes which had not been seen since the American Great Depression. The events of the Economic Collapse of 2000 threw the entire nation into chaos and anarchy within two years of it happening, with both adult suicide and juvenile crime rates soaring to almost unimaginable levels. During the crisis, both Houses which comprised the National Diet unanimously voted to hand all democratic control over to the Ministry of Defense in an effort to combat the rampant juvenile disorder that was tearing Japan apart. Building on a similar legislative design as the National Diet, the Ministry of Defense reorganized the Japanese government into a more streamlined, militarized institution; abolishing the roles of the both the Speaker of the House of Representatives and the President of the Councilors in favor of a General Speaker whose function and power would comprise both House leaders' office. In place of the House of Representatives and the House of Councilors rose the House of Civils and the House of Martials; both of which were military personnel but divided up the governmental functions between civilian and military agendas. The position of Prime Minister and all the power that it entailed was given over to the General Speaker. The Japanese Emperor – whose role is more ceremonial than ever before – has been reduced to merely serving as a traveling international ambassador for the nation and having no true political influence in the newly established Imperial Diet. He is often only paid lip service by the current government and is generally confined to his estates in Kyoto when he is actually in the country for 'his own protection'. Sole authority of all Japanese affairs resides in the hands of this throwback to what Japan's legislative government was called after the inception of the Meiji Constitution. Currently, the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan is listed as one of the poorest Pacific-Asian nations with most of the industrial contracts and technological research it was once lauded for going to South Korea, Taiwan and China. Once known for its polite, peaceful culture and the break-neck speed of technological advancement; the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan is now known for its military-controlled government, its strict policies regarding youth management and schooling, and 'the Program'.

**THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA (CAPITALIST DEMOCRACY)**

One of the few remaining World Superpowers, the United States still holds the unenviable position as the 'Seat of the Free World'. But a new president and recent economic decline has forced the powerful nation to stumble along in recent years. With its involvement in two major wars (the War in Afghanistan and the War in Iraq) and a third conflict on the horizon (with Iran which continues its enriched uranium research despite the threats of war from the United States), the country is beginning to truly buckle under the weight of its perceived responsibility to police the world. The obvious warmongerism of President Johnson McNeil along with his charismatic ability to push agendas through Congress with little to no effort is not making the future look any brighter. The growing financial crisis in the United States has caused crimes rates to soar to never-before-seen levels. Homelessness and broken families due to lack of work are becoming what passes for normalcy in a country once known for being 'the Land of Opportunity'. The growing line of division between the wealthy and the poor has only gotten wider and more pronounced. The last few years of the decade have been less than kind to most Americans, with the former 'Recession' now fully being recognized by some as a 'Little Depression'. The effect of this on the nation's youth population has only become more obvious, with teen crime and dropout rates growing higher and higher in recent years. Adding to that is the wild and debaucherous lifestyle being lived out by those teens wealthy enough to finance it along with a warped perception that anyone not as well off as they are is beneath them and not worthy of their time. And while this has been largely ignored by the current administration in lieu of other pressing issues, a small number of political holdouts and corporate heads concerned for the wellbeing of the nation's future – and the young Americans set to inherit it – have taken a worried enough interest to do something about it.

**THE PROGRAM**

Created by the Millennial Education Reform Act, 'the Program' was brought into being almost three years after the Economic Collapse of 2000 to combat the growing problems of youth disorder. In the wake of the Collapse, Japan faced a nationwide, fifteen percent unemployment rate; with over ten million of its citizens out of work in less than a year and a half. As a result, societal disorder increased and the adult suicide rates grew higher and higher. Because of this, more and more children were being raised without their parents' guidance. Overcrowded orphanages were soon a common sight in the failing country. It didn't take long for the fallout from the Collapse to twist and taint their views on school education, morality and the values that the Japanese culture was built on. In the two years after the Collapse, juvenile crime rates soared higher than they ever had; rapes, beatings, thefts, even murder becoming a growing trend among the Japanese youth population. During that time, over eight-hundred thousand students boycotted school and refused to continue their education. To deal with the aftermath sown by the Collapse, the Japanese government was reorganized and the two Houses of the National Diet handed all democratic power over to the Ministry of Defense until such time as the current crisis could be averted. They, in turn, enacted a forced nationwide curfew and, when that failed, martial law. But nothing could curb the youth violence and delinquency. To counter that, the newly raised Imperial Diet proposed that a new article be added to the Japanese Constitution. It took them seven months to work all of the details but afterward, the Millennial Education Reform Act was passed and ratified. And with it came 'the Program'. Initially, the Reform Act – or 'Battle Royale' Act, as it would come to be known by – only targeted the most violent of youth offenders. These trouble-making adolescent boys and girls were gathered up and shipped off to a secluded military location where escape was impossible, given weapons and told to kill each other. Despite a number of initial setbacks with the inception of 'the Program' and the moral disputes it created amongst the general public, it was eventually refined and became a cornerstone of the new Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan. It has been stated that 'the Program' has a success rate between eighty to eighty-five percent. Yet even with the gradual decline of delinquency and violence, the Imperial Diet decided not to repeal the Reform Act; citing that if order was to be maintained in the country, further examples would be needed to remind those growing up the penalties of disobedience and misbehavior. As of now, one middle-school out of a list of fifty possible applicants is chosen at random once every year to participate in 'the Program' by sending one class of students to the designated BR site. Two years earlier, it was three classes every year but recent strides in responsible thinking and commitment to their education by the Nation's youth population forced the government to reduce it to one a year. After all, fear is a powerful motivator. And when someone fears for their life, they become that much more open to changing themselves for the better. Currently, and in large part due to the emotional inexperience of deceased former Program Supervisor Kitano, the Imperial Diet is considering rescinding the 'once a year' rule until the two escapees – Shuuya Nanahara and Noriko Nakagawa – have been apprehended and returned to the Nationalist Commonwealth to stand trial for treason. To facilitate this, the Nationalist Commonwealth has inked a contract with elements of the American Government to aid in the creation of an Americanized version of 'the Program' known as 'the Blitz' in return for information on the whereabouts of the two fugitives.


	14. The True Cost of Friendship

**1****st**** AMERICAN BLITZ**

**CHAPTER 8**

* * *

**Boys, No. 09**

**Nicholas 'Nick' Lang**

**"The True Cost of Friendship"**

* * *

_Sitting in his favorite booth at Slingshot's, Nick Lang casually turned to the next page in his book. A small paperback,_ The Requiem and the Revenge _was an intriguing, though over-bloated, tale of a national terrorist and one foreign country's insane efforts to murder him – which included conscription of their nation's youths to invade his island headquarters, missile strikes and bombing raids when that failed and then asking aid from a neighboring country they were at war with when none of their original plans succeeded. It was pretty heavy-handed, in his honest opinion. But still, while it wasn't the best novel Nick had ever read, it was a great way to kill time._

_It was also a great way of avoiding the rest of the football team. Hanging out with them wasn't something he'd been too particularly keen on. They were supposed to be throwing him some sort of pre-Paris bash in an expensive hotel room rented out by their coach. And of course with the party being for him, he was _expected _to be there. It was a real shame he was going to have to disappoint them._

_It wasn't like Nick had anything against the jocks at Diomatti High. Afterall he could be considered one himself. It was just that they seemed to operate on a completely different level than he did. In their own words, partying and pussy were all that mattered to them. And as much as it was expected of him by his teammates, Nick just couldn't say the same._

_But that didn't mean he wasn't into having fun or being with girls._

_With his smile, emerald eyes, Caesar-cut styled hair, athletic build and his skills out on the football field and basketball court; he was more than desirable. He was at very top of all the girls' 'most dateable guys' lists at George R. Diomatti High. The basic truth was that he could have_ any _girl in the school if he wanted her._

_Unfortunately, Nick didn't want any of them. It had become his greatest estimation that girls – Upper East Side high school girls in particular – were way too high maintenance for someone as casual as him. And that was one of the main reasons why Nick was dreading the trip to Paris he'd won._

_Sighing, he reached onto the table and picked up his rather plain-looking bookmark. Placing it at the center of the open book, he closed it and sat it down. The world outside the large window suddenly became much more interesting to him. In a daze, he stared out of it; concern evident on his face and mind lost in deep thought._

_As much as he might've liked to think that he was too casual to date most of the girls at Diomatti High,_ _they_ _apparently didn't. Nick knew of two going on the trip that had him set square in their sights. Well, one really. The other was her best friend. But even that was too much for him._

_Worse still, she was the kind who didn't like to take 'no' for an answer. This basically trapped him in an annoying situation that seemed nothing but inescapable. Was it really too much to ask just to be left alone for the next two weeks? What the hell did he have to do to escape from that upper-crust, high-society bimbo and her friend? Kill himself?_

"_You know something Nick," a light-hearted, female voice called out; breaking him away from his thoughts, "all that worry is really gonna give you an ulcer some day. Come on, cheer up! Don't you know we're going to_ Paris _tomorrow? Knowing that, how the hell can you even_ look _that depressed?"_

_Turning his head from the large window, Nick focused his eyes and attention to the side. Not that he really needed to see the face of the person teasing him. There was only one person that he knew who could be_ that _happy about something that was making him utterly miserable._

"_Has anyone ever told you, Vikki," Nick began, looking up at a chubby girl with long, flaxen hair and rosy cheeks, "that being _this _happy often hides some sort of deep-seated, childhood trauma that leads to the person going nuts and murdering all of her closest friends?"_

_Vikki Shaw folded her arms across her rather sizeable chest and smiled down at Nick._

"_Is that right?"_

_Nick leaned back in his booth and nodded his head sagely._

"_Yeah, and it usually happens after they can't open a jar of peanut butter or something. You know; something simple."_

_Vikki just laughed out loud._

"_Really," she asked afterward, extending out a hand to the back of the booth on the opposite side of the table to steady herself and took the seat across from Nick. "Then it's really gonna suck for you 'cause there's this jar of peanut butter at home that I can't open and it's been making me pretty twitchy. It's a real shame that I consider you my best friend. I'd_ really _hate to kill you."_

_Nick couldn't help but smile. Vikki Shaw was his oldest friend, though it was hard for a lot of people to imagine why. She was the exact opposite of everything he was; unpopular, overweight, horrible at sports, a social zero and picked on by just about everyone that he knew at the private high school they both attended. Oddly enough, she represented everything that Nick wished he could be. "Same here Vikki. I'd really hate for your stupid smile to be the last thing I see before I die."_

_The fair-haired girl gave a playful roll her light-blue eyes._

"_You're just saying that because you_ know _it turns you on, big boy. Don't deny it!"_

_Nick played along, flashing his sexiest wink._

"_Why would I deny something so obvious, Vikki. I mean, how could any guy_ _not_ _be turned into a jabbering wreck when they see your pearly whites?"_

_Vikki just laughed again, flashing a bright smile before replying, "You know it! These babies are Colgate-clean every morning! I never skip a day! Seriously Nick, these sucker's are so bright, all I have to do is smile to find my way in the dark!"_

_Nick found himself laughing so hard at her comment that he couldn't respond. But then, that was another thing about Vikki Shaw that people didn't understand. Her sense of humor. The girl could shrug off the most horrible of remarks, the most hurtful of statements with a few funny words and a laugh – usually at her own expense. Sometimes, it made Nick wonder how Vikki _really _dealt with the daily teasing and ridicule she faced at a school where the 'mean girls' ruled._

"_Okay," she said, jovial voice serious all of a sudden, "all joking aside, Nick, what's up?"_

_His laughter trailing off, Nick was blindsided Vikki's words._

"_H-Huh? What…what are you talking about?"_

_The heavy teen just shook her head, knowing eyes narrowing._

"_Oh don't play stupid with me, emo-boy," she returned, jabbing a thick finger in his direction. "You're so damn glum I'm surprised it hasn't started raining in here yet. So tell me, what's the story morning-glory?"_

_Nick pulled his gaze away from Vikki, taking up his original stare out the eatery's large-paned window. His face lost the brief happiness that'd been brought on by his friend's casual joking and playing around. The expression on it now was a mixture of annoyance and worry._

"_Paris," he uttered with a sigh. "That's what the story is, this stupid trip that we're taking to Paris tomorrow."_

_The look on Vikki's pudgy face became quizzical._

"_Wait, you're telling me that all this doom-and-gloom that I've been trying to laugh out of you is because we're _going _to Paris?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_Why? I mean, what's the deal?"_

"_I don't know."_

"_That's bullshit and you know it."_

_Nick sighed again and reluctantly turned his eyes to Vikki._

"_Fine," he stated in a defeated tone. "It's Alisia and Brenda. They're going on the trip too, tomorrow."_

_Vikki's eyes widened and then a small scowl developed after they narrowed again._

"_The Backseat Bimbos," she questioned to him, her voice practically_ _dripping_ _with an urge to laugh. "You're worried about _them_? Jeez Nick! That's_ all _you were worried about?"_

_Nick's expression became stony and then hardened even more when Vikki began to giggle. "What's so damned funny?"_

_The fat girl in front of him stopped giggling for a moment, regarded him with mirth-filled eyes and then broke out into a hard, loud bout of laughter. Worse still, it was beginning to attract the attention of some of the other people in the diner near their booth. Nick's jaw almost dropped to the table when he realized that more than a few of them were also from Diomatti High. His normally calm face reddened with a mortified look._

"_Goddammit Vikki," he cursed quietly, trying not to look every direction at once, "stop fucking laughing! Come on, quit it! It's not that damned funny and I have my reasons! Did you hear me? _Stop laughing!_"_

_But that was the last thing that Vikki Shaw did. Instead, she began to laugh even harder; going so far as slapping her hand down on the table a few times. Nick could feel a nervous sweat begin to form on his brow as he cut his eyes toward the bar of the diner. Behind it, the waitress and the cook were casting very hard eyes at him and his friend._

Oh great, _he thought as he gave them a half-cocked grin and pointed at Vikki while shaking his head. _First the trip from Hell and now laughing girl here won't shut up! Man, how much worse can things get for me?

_**-O-**_

_I'll wait for you Vikki,_ Nick thought solemnly as he crept along the empty hallway. _I promise._

He had spent the past five minutes or so scouting for a place close by to wait for his best friend, Vikki Shaw after he'd left the room. In that time, Nick had been forced to hide twice to avoid other students released after him. Up to now, he'd only had to deal with two but he knew that his time was running out. In about minute or so he'd have another one to hide from.

He remembered watching from his hiding places as the new 'participants' entered 'the Blitz'. One was a freckle-faced girl with red-framed glasses and the other that lanky, long-haired boy who'd asked Omatsu Reiko the important question of why they'd been gathered together on the offshore platform. Both of them were wearing harried expressions when he watched them pass by. However, the body language of both told a different story of what could be expected from them down the road.

The boy – Dillon something-or-other if he remembered right – had already set a brisk pace for himself and was rushing by the service closet where Nick had hidden. Determination was mixed in with that anxious expression; worried eyes wide but very alert. Seeing the look on the boy's face forced him deeper into the shadows of the storeroom instinctively to avoid any chance of being seen. He didn't know if Dillon was the type to kill or not, but the way he was carrying himself at that moment set off a blaring warning siren in Nick's head. If at all possible, he would do whatever he could to avoid running into the boy.

Just to be sure.

The girl on the other hand, just based on her build alone, wouldn't last very long. He hated himself for thinking that way, but it was the harsh truth of his new reality. The way she carried herself, as if she were ready to jump at every shadow, also told a story of an early death if she came across any of the more…aggressive students who decided to take what was happening seriously. The tears which traced irregular paths from her eyes weren't making her future on the oil rig seem any brighter.

Seeing the girl cut a little too close to home, though. That panicked expression, those teary eyes, the items she'd been forced to take to keep her alive clutched tight in those thin arms; it all brought back that unsettling image of Alisia Benetti screaming, pleading and begging for the soldiers not to send her out. Though he wasn't fond of either her or her best friend, Brenda Hughes; he still couldn't suppress the pained feeling in his chest or the lump forming in his throat when he watched the Japanese soldiers shove her out into the hallway. That was someone he _knew_ thrown out to be killed like an animal! How could he not feel something for her?

Nick wished that there was more he could do for both the girl he'd hidden from and Alisia, wished that no one trapped in this insane 'game' would take it for anything more than just a tasteless, bad joke. But deep down, he knew it was a pipe dream to wish that. There were just too many students in that briefing room he knew nothing about. All except one. And she had his trust inexplicitly

That brought on more thoughts about Vikki. And the reason he was still on the same floor as the briefing room instead of out on the platform's exterior searching for his weapon.

Pausing at a corner to sneak a look around it, Nick was quick to turn to check behind him as well. Even though he knew that scouting the floor to find a suitable place to wait it out for Vikki was not the smartest idea, given the situation; Nick felt that he had no other choice in the matter. She was his best friend and he wouldn't leave her to be murdered by some panicked, paranoid student twisted by their fear of dying. She'd been his friend for too long to just abandon her like that. That was why he had to be careful. Because both his and Vikki's life depended on it.

Cautiously, he moved around the corner and made his way over to another set of office doors. A sudden impulse made him reach into his pocket and grab hold of the GPS handheld. He wasn't too sure if another two minutes had passed yet, but he knew he couldn't afford to take any chances. Like he'd thought before, there were just too many people in that room that he knew absolutely nothing about. The next person pushed out of the large briefing room could be someone who didn't mind getting their hands…dirty. Nick tried to suppress the shiver the thought sent up his spine but couldn't.

Gazing down at the GPS with uneasy eyes, he watched as the digital numbers counted down to eighteen minutes and twenty-four seconds. His eyes grew wide. He'd set the timer based on a quick estimation of how long it'd take for all the students to be released from the room; so he would always know how much time he had left between individuals sent out. But what it was telling him now was that he didn't _have_ any more time.

Nick swore under his breath. He shoved the GPS handheld back into his pocket and scanned the hallway as quick as he could. He needed to find a place to hide…and fast. Only seconds remained before someone else was set loose in this crazed 'game' and Nick had no desire to find out if they were frightened, friendly or psychotic.

He moved with the quick feet which had made him a star running back on the football field. Seconds, all he had left were seconds. He had to hurry. Vikki's life depended on him.

Nick didn't bother with any of the offices that were closed. That would just waste too much time, checking to see if the door was locked or not. He'd have to take his chances with the ones that were open and hope that no one else was already in them.

He briskly rushed down the corridor, eyes searching and scanning but finding nothing. The seconds stretched to their inevitable end and a loud voice echoed through the hallway. The words spoken were in Japanese; sounding very angry and menacing to his ears. No more time was left. He had to find an office to hide in now! That or face down with a frightened, panicked student and end up doing something that he might regret. Or worse.

The light footfalls of feet striking against the metal deck carried through the stuffy, humid air of the hallway. Faint at first, they were growing louder and closer by the second. Nick almost cursed out loud but kept himself from doing so as he hastily began to check doors to the offices instead. He was all out of options now and none of the offices in the corridor seemed to be open. There had to be at least _one_ that was unlocked!

The sound of the person rushing down the corridor beat a steady path in his direction. It wouldn't be too long before they rounded the corner and saw him. Nick's stomach churned nervously as he checked yet another doorknob. Nothing. He was all out of time!

Whoever the person running from the room was, they were fast. There was no way he'd have any more time to check doors. He was going to have to confront whoever it was and hope he could either talk his way out or, if left with no other option, fight his way out. Whatever it took, he had to find some way to work through it. For Vikki's sake.

Cursing, he readied himself for the student rushing toward him. Without warning, the knob on the door he'd just checked turned and a crack formed in the doorway. Nick's head swung toward the door, eyes widening in suspicious surprise.

_What the…?_

Then his thought stopped cold at the realization of his situation. His heart began to beat faster in his chest. Not only did he have to worry about whoever was coming from the briefing room, he also had to deal with someone who'd been hiding in the office he had been looking to use for himself. How much worse could things get for him?

But before he could come up with a plan of action, the door opened fully and two tanned hands reached out to grab him by the arm followed by a familiar, urgent voice exclaiming, "Oh God Nick, it _is_ you! Hurry! _Hurry!_"

He didn't need any more convincing. Not bothering to look and see if the person running from the briefing room had rounded the corner or not, Nick bolted into the office as fast as he could. Brenda Hughes let go of his arm just as quickly and pushed the door shut just part way. To avoid making any noise, he figured. After that she backed away into the dark corner just beside it, fear shining bright in her eyes.

Nick moved away from the door as well but did so in such a way that he could still see who was passing by. A second or two later, the footfalls became as clear as bells to his ears. If he'd taken any longer, if it hadn't been for Brenda opening the door; he would've been confronting the person rushing past the door.

His green eyes only caught a glimpse of the figure running past. It was a girl and he thought that she might've been Black. But that was all he could catch with her moving so fast. Her speed was _that_ impressive.

Nick's mind tried to focus on all the students who'd been in the room when he left. He remembered seeing at least three who were Black; one of them a girl. There was another girl but she seemed to be a mix, both Black and White he'd guessed. But that obviously wasn't her who'd just run past the office because the one he'd just seen was too dark-skinned to be mixed.

_That makes her one of the three,_ he thought.

From what he remembered, that meant that she'd been the second of them to leave. The first was a younger-looking boy with glasses who looked like he was ready to piss himself when they called his name. He wasn't sure how much of a threat that either of them would be, but the third one in the room had the look of someone who'd lived a hard life. If there was anyone in this insanity who should be avoided, it was definitely going to be him.

For a moment he just stood there, silent as stone, gazing out of the crack in the doorway. Realization had dawned on him. It'd been a girl. The person he would've had confronted if Brenda hadn't been in the office was…a girl. The person he'd been willing to fight it out with, or worse, had been a _girl_.

Nick felt a cold chill run through him. What would have happened if Brenda hadn't been there; if the office was unoccupied and locked? How far would he have gone if she hadn't been willing to talk it out; if she'd been desperate and panicked? How far would he have gone?

"N-Nick?" Brenda's voice broke through the troubling questions in his head. "A…are they…are they g-gone?"

Nick's throat suddenly felt too tight and dry to talk. It was like he had swallowed a mouthful of sand. So he instead turned his eyes to her and gave a curt nod. A girl! How far _would_ he have gone?

"G-good," Brenda replied as she allowed herself to slide down to the floor. Nick watched as the tanned-skin girl pulled her long legs up to her chest and clutched her arms around them. The shorts she wore rode up enough to almost reveal the slight curve of her butt cheeks. Nick turned his head away from her and occupied himself with moving toward the door. Brenda's head darted up immediately.

"W-wait! Wh-where are you g-going?"

"Nowhere, but I've got to keep an eye out for Vikki."

"V-Vikki…Sh-Shaw?" Brenda stammered out.

"Yeah Brenda, who else would it be?" he answered with an annoyed sigh. His throat still felt dry and he almost had to force the words out.

"But wh-why?"

He tried not to sigh again or let his anger at his earlier thoughts get the better of him. Brenda Hughes was the _last_ person he wanted to be saddled with right now. The truth of the matter was that the girl would be like a boulder tied around his neck and dragging her along would only complicate things more than they already were, especially when Vikki arrived. Only being stuck with Alisia Benetti could be considered any worse. Being stuck with them both would be an absolute nightmare.

Nick didn't return Brenda's vacant stare in his direction. Nor did he answer her question. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the GPS handheld. Raising it, he clicked a button and brought up the timer. He watched as the large digital numbers continued the countdown he'd created. Nick had started the timer at fifty-six. It was now down to seventeen minutes and twenty-eight seconds.

_Only a minute and a half until someone else is sent out. Please be okay Vikki._

"We…we should be looking for…for Lisi," Brenda said quietly. "Sh-she looked so…so scared, Nick. I…I've never seen her look so…so…so… Th-the way those soldiers…treated her… Oh my God Nick, wh-what's going to…what's going to happen to…to…to her? T-to us?"

At first, he had tried to ignore Brenda's words. Afterall, Alisia was the last person he wanted to think about. There was just too much baggage that came along with any thoughts of the girl. Not to mention her obsessive pursuit of him back at school.

But the fear, the tremor in Brenda's voice, the worry that she was feeling for her best friend; all of it struck home to Nick and made him ashamed of how he'd been acting. Because it made him realize that he wasn't the only one with a close friend trapped out in the madness that was about to take place. He wasn't the only one worried about their best friend being murdered by some panicked student they'd never met or seen before. He wasn't the only one in fear of losing someone important to them.

With a small sigh, he turned his eyes from the GPS handheld and dropped the hand holding it down to his side. He looked down at the dark-skinned blonde huddled in the corner. Usually loud-mouthed and brash, Brenda Hughes showed very little of her typical bluster. Nick hadn't known her for too long; at least not as long as he'd known Alisia. But from the time that she'd become the girl's best friend, the two were almost inseparable. Even though he tried to keep as much distance between them and himself as possible, Nick couldn't help but notice how close they were. The bond between Alisia and Brenda was…well, if he had to put words to it, sisterly. And the pain in her voice, the concern over her best friend only made it more apparent to him.

"Okay, look," he began, turning back to the door and grabbing hold of the doorknob. He closed it quietly and then locked it. "I get where you're coming from. I know how much Alisia means to you and I know how scared she was. I saw it too, remember? But Vikki means just as much to me." Returning his gaze to Brenda, Nick tried to sound reassuring. "I…I don't think anything's going to happen to her, Brenda. I'm sure that –"

"Li…like you _know_ that!" she interrupted, her blue eyes wild with fear. "You don't know that she'll be okay! You…you don't even fucking care, Nick! You never have! You don't give a shit if Lisi is ki –"

In seconds, Nick was down beside the girl; one hand pressed against her mouth and the other flat against the wall behind her. His green eyes glittered darkly in what little light there was in the office.

"Goddammit Brenda," he whispered in a harsh tone, "shut the fuck up! What, do you want someone to know we're in here?"

But the blonde's eyes instead went very wide and she began to struggle under his hand. Muffled words tried to escape from her sealed lips as tanned arms rose and pushed roughly against Nick's chest. His expression became very confused. In all honesty, Nick didn't know what to make of it. He had no idea why the girl was acting the way she was. All he was trying to do was keep her quiet.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he questioned with a low voice, doing what he could to keep his hand clamped around her mouth. The muffled words only seemed to be growing louder. Was she…screaming? _What in the world is her problem? I mean, all of this because I'm trying to shut her up and keep us from getting killed?_ "Just calm the fuck down for a minute!"

He looked into her eyes for any sign of understanding. When he found nothing but frenzied panic, Nick lessened the pressure that his hand had against her mouth. Slowly, the fear showing began to vanish. But as it did, it was being replaced by a suspicious glare. He was still confused until he noticed the faint imprint of his fingers and thumb high on her cheeks. That was when he realized just how hard he'd pressed his hand against her mouth. And her nose.

Nick could feel his heartbeat quicken. No wonder she was so scared! Brenda must have thought that he was trying to kill her!

"L-look," he began in a hesitant voice, "I…I'm sorry. I di –"

But his words were cut off by Brenda slapping away his hand from her mouth.

"Wha…What the fuck, Nick? _What the fuck!_"

Nick backed away from the girl as she quickly scooted along the wall to distance herself from him. Had he been trying to…? Was he actually trying to…to…? No! It was all a mistake. A misunderstanding. He'd been trying to keep her quiet so that no one would know that they were in the office. He would never kill anyone. He couldn't!

"Bre…Brenda," he began again, trying to keep his voice calm. "I…I'm sorry. I didn't…I didn't know that…that I was… I didn't know that…I…was… I didn't know that…that –"

"You…you were trying to _kill_ me?" she finished for him angrily.

Falling back against the flat side of a small wooden desk, Nick eyes widened at the accusation. Had he really been trying to…to kill Brenda?

"N-No!" he shouted back. "I…I wasn't trying to kill you Brenda! I was trying…trying to shut you up! Your screaming was going to give us away! God! Use your fucking head for once! Why in the hell would…would I _kill_ you?"

But Brenda just stared at him like he was a poisonous snake she'd found under a rock.

"I…I don't know," she sneered, grabbing up the canteen and GPS laying a little ways off to her left, "maybe because _I_ wanted to go find Lisi instead of waiting her for your totally gross bitch to get here!"

Nick's eyes narrowed.

"Don't you fucking talk about her like that, Brenda!"

"Or what," Brenda pressed as she pushed up shakily from the floor. "You'll _kill_ me?"

Nick rose from the floor as well and stared daggers at the girl.

"_You_ fucking started this," he countered, "by saying that I didn't give a shit about Alisia!"

"You don't!" she screamed back. "Seriously Nick, Lisi's fucking crazy about you and all you care about is that bloated blip on the radar, Vikki Shaw! You don't give a _damn_ about us! You don't give a fuck if we end up dying out here!_"_

Nick's expression fell and he felt the full weight, the full impact of the girl's harsh words. He swallowed hard. His green eyes fell from Brenda's glowering face.

"Tha…That's not true," he stammered in an absent tone.

_How far would you go?_ The question echoed through his head again. _How far would you go?_ His eyes closed against the accusation, both Brenda's and the internal one assaulting his mind without mercy. _How far would you go?_ Was Brenda right? Was keeping Vikki safe _that_ important to him? Important enough to…to let other people die? Other people that he _knew_? What would be the cost of his friendship to Vikki?

"Fuck you, Nick!" Brenda yelled. "Fuck you _and_ that blimp!"

With that, Nick opened his eyes and looked up. But Brenda wasn't even looking his way anymore. The leggy blonde was moving toward the door with long, purposeful steps; canteen and GPS handheld already slung across her chest. His heart almost jumped into his throat. Instinctively, he reached out and seized her arm in a strong grip. He couldn't let her leave! If something happened to her, he would never be able to forgive himself!

"W-wait, don –"

An image of Alisia begging and pleading with the soldiers in the room stabbed his mind with guilt. He froze and the words died in his mouth. _How far would you go?_ His hand loosened at the same time Brenda yanked her arm free.

"Leave me the fuck alone! I'm going to do what _you_ won't! I'm going to find Lisi!"

Nick's extended arm fell uselessly to his side while his other hand gripped the GPS tight enough to make the plastic groan.

"You…" he began in a whisper. "You could… Brenda, you…you could die if you go out there alone. Please, don't do this."

The tanned-skin blonde didn't bother to look back his way as she grabbed hold of the knob, unlocked it and gave it a rough twist.

"Then," she responded furiously, pulling the door open, "everything should be five-by-five for you, you fucking asshole!"

Those were the last words she said to him. The door then slammed shut and Nick Lang was left alone in the darkness of the office with the future death of two girls he knew already weighing heavily on his conscience. But somewhere in the back of his head, a disgusting sense of relief at not having to worry about Brenda or keeping her safe while he waited for Vikki forced five words back into his head.

_How far would you go?_

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

Rahdi Patel is dead set on hiding herself in one of the Quarters Module lunchrooms. It is there she was told to wait by her best friend Charlie Rae Dolan until she comes for her. The girl promised to return to her after she retrieved her weapon so she could protect them both. But her friend's promise is small comfort to Rahdi, whose entire way of life has been dedicated to peace and non-violence as dictated by her family's beliefs. The very idea of why they were brought to the oil rig is appalling to her and goes against everything that she was raised to believe in. And the fact that Charlie Rae has already seemingly given in to the violence erupting around them has Rahdi troubled.

But with no rescue possible and her best friend yet to return, Rahdi keeps to the shadows of the Quarters Module; determined to find a lunchroom to hide in and remain safely away from the violence consuming the minds of everyone else. But will it be enough to keep her from the violence she so hates?

**Coming soon, "****Violence is Never the Answer****",**

**Chapter 9 of **_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Okay, just because I skipped over Misty Greer character breakdown that was supposed to be in the Author's Notes at the end of her chapter I've decided to add them here. This was actually written for her chapter but I decided to pull it at the last moment. Why? Don't know. But here it is now so read and enjoy!

Misty. Sounds pretty close to Mitsuko doesn't it? I mean seriously; drop the last three letters, switch around the 't' and 's' and then add a 'y'! And damn, the 'do anything to win' personality? I can already see the Misty=Mitsuko comments that are going to be in everyone's heads! LOL! It's just SO obvious right?

Well, I'd rather say it isn't. And no, I don't mean that in some sort of arrogant 'Misty is just SO much better than Mitsuko' kind of way. It's just that I think that Misty Greer is completely her _own_ character and not some cheap rip off of the ever-popular Mitsuko Souma (whom I liked very much in every incarnation of _**Battle Royale**_). I'd like to think that the name and 'winner attitude' are the only things similar between Misty and Mitsuko. I think the key difference is the family dynamic and 'calm reasoning' versus 'psychotic instinct'.

Mitsuko was damaged goods from the beginning; a child that was a victim of so much hurt that it shaped her into brutal and hard teenager willing to do just about anything to survive. In all three formats (the book, the movie and the manga), Mitsuko was really messed up in the head (okay, maybe not so much so in the movie but in the novel and manga, wow, she had nothing BUT a fucked up life). Her life as a child was anything but innocent and her teen years weren't really that much better. To sum it up, Mitsuko Souma was shaped into a killer by a life so ruthlessly violent and cruel that her messed up mentality wouldn't really let her be anything other than that.

Misty, on the other hand, comes from a home with both parents still present in the household. She's never been the victim of a molestation or rape, never been beaten or hit by her parents or anything else that would twist her perception of what was right and what was wrong. She was raised with a strong, nearly omnipresent, desire to win and be the best at whatever she did. And this conviction was tempered by her mother's credo of 'hard work and sacrifice'. But even with this, she can't keep herself from being arrogant and superior; two traits that could lead to her ultimate downfall in 'the Blitz' if she isn't careful.

So there you go! Misty's character write up. Hope it was a worthwhile read!

And sorry about taking so long with this chapter, among other things (such as me not being online lately). But life has been kicking me down bad lately and for a while, things were pretty bleak. Everything's beginning to look up (for now) and I should be back online again real soon. So look for me…LOL! As for this newest chapter? It was a hard write for me. Nick Lang was a character that was difficult for me to get into. And I think it shows. I might have to go over this chapter with a fine-tooth comb to work out any little inconsistencies that might exist. As of this writing, I don't think Nick will be my favorite character to write out. But that doesn't mean that I won't put the same amount of effort into his character as I do the others.

Hopefully the next chapter won't take as long to get out…LOL!

Well, as usual, thanks for reading! And I hope you all enjoy this newest chapter.


	15. Violence is Never the Answer

**1****st**** AMERICAN BLITZ**

**CHAPTER 9**

* * *

**Girls, No. 11**

**Rahdi Patel**

**"Violence is Never the Answer"**

* * *

The faint scent of dried urine left a nasty scent which lingered in her nostrils. Her damp panties clung wetly in places that she was too frightened – and disgusted – to think about. Her chocolate-brown eyes scanned over the seven other people left in the large briefing room. And even more fear gripped her heart.

There had been eight.

About a minute ago, a tall boy with messy dark hair and a mischievous smirk was sent out. She hadn't liked the way he was eying all the others left in the room – especially the girls. A shiver worked its way through her body when she thought about his blue eyes leering in her direction. The thought made her stomach nauseous. Trying to find a sense of comfort, she pressed herself deeper into the corner she'd shared earlier with her friend Charlene; a girl who had promised to protect them both before leaving.

Rahdi Patel almost jumped out of her skin when the Japanese woman called her name. At first, she didn't want to move. She wanted to just remain in her corner, safe from all those who'd already left and were now probably out killing each other.

But then she remembered.

A girl from earlier – one who had begged, pleaded and even offered money to their Japanese overseers – being bodily dragged to the front of the room. They had shoved all of the necessary items into her arms, collared her and then pushed her through the doorway. Her hysterical screams could be heard echoing through the halls closest to the briefing room for more than just a few minutes afterward. That girl was the first to be sent to her death. Most of those who followed behind her had decided not to be as dramatic.

Spurred forward by the memories of the first person to be sacrificed to the monstrous hell awaiting them, Rahdi forced strength into her legs and moved to the front of the room. Her nervous eyes looked over the other faces awaiting their death sentence as she walked past them. They were varied in appearance, gender and race. Another Mexican boy with an angry expression, an auburn-haired girl with a kind face, a rough-looking Black teen who seemed too calm to be believed, a mixed race girl who had yet to stop crying, that short-haired blond boy who'd been assaulted by the soldiers after they'd first woke up, a red-headed girl clutching hold to him and sobbing into his chest and last, an overweight girl who was nervously fidgeting with her green blouse while gazing at the doorway with longing eyes.

They were from all walks of life, as different from each other as Rahdi was from them. But they shared two distinct, horrible things in common. They had all been gathered and brought to die on an offshore drilling platform in the middle of the East China Sea. And, no matter what their faces may have said otherwise, they all held the terror of their eminent deaths deep in their eyes.

Rahdi's dark, sweaty feet slid around in the confining straps of her sandals as she walked up to the front of the room with hesitant steps. Her eyes never once rose to meet the gaze of Omatsu Reiko as she meekly moved around the woman and went to the boxes sitting behind her. The woman scared her, almost more than what was being done to them did.

After what she had threatened to do to Charlene, so cold and matter-of-fact about it, Rahdi knew that the woman held no compassion about what she forcing the kidnapped students to do. To her, their deaths were just a part of her job; a list of facts and figures to be added to a report filed sometime after all but one of them was dead. No, there was no way that she would _ever_ look that woman in the face again.

Gathering up a canteen and a GPS handheld, Rahdi moved to the doorway where two soldiers awaited her impatiently. She tried to force herself to move faster. She didn't want to be dragged or thrown out of the room. She didn't want to be a part of the violence; whether from the so-called 'Blitz' or the two Japanese soldiers who seemed to enjoy the suffering and anguish that they were causing. All she wanted was a way to avoid it.

She grunted as the white envelope was shoved into her chest. But she said nothing. She thought nothing. She wouldn't let the violence committed by the soldier touch her heart. She would not give in.

Rahdi kept her eyes focused straight ahead and out the doorway as the cool metal of the PISCES collar was wrapped around her neck. A device of violence. A horrible thing that could kill her in a heartbeat should her captors so wish it. She resisted the urge to raise a hand against it, though. Violence only begot more violence. That was something her parents had always told her. Trying to forcibly remove the collar went against everything she learned from her teachings as a Buddhist and her own personal belief in _Ahimsa_.

The collar _clicked_ into place and a hard hand pressed itself against her back. She readied herself to be shoved out the doorway as so many others before her had. She wouldn't fight back. She wouldn't resist.

But the rough push that Rahdi was expecting didn't come. At least, not when she thought it would. Instead, the hand of the soldier fisted around the fabric of her t-shirt and yanked her back toward him in a slight manner. And suddenly she could feel his breath on her ear, his chapped lips brushing up against the upper part of her lobe. Her heart began to beat very hard and very fast behind her ribcage.

"You Buddhist never last very long," he whispered with menace, English barely understandable. "You Buddhist always die hard. Always die fast."

From behind them, the rigid voice of Omatsu Reiko said something to the soldier in Japanese and he pulled away from her ear. With a rude grunt of a laugh, he shoved her hard out of the doorway and into the hall. Rahdi stumbled awkwardly as she tried to maintain hold on the items held in a loose grip against her chest. Coming to rest against the far wall of the corridor, she steadied herself as quick as she could and began to move hastily from the doorway.

Trying to forget the words of the soldier who had shoved her out of the briefing room, Rahdi focused instead on making her way to one of the lunchrooms that her friend had mentioned. Charlene would be trying to find her after she'd retrieved her weapon and those were the first places that she would be searching through. The thought made Rahdi glad and disappointed at the same time. Though she would be happy to see Charlene again, relieved to feel her strong arms wrapped around her body in a comforting manner; she couldn't help but feel equally disgusted by the fact that she was so quick to give in to the violence preparing to erupt around them. Her devotion to Buddhism and _Ahimsa_ just wouldn't allow her to feel anything else.

Deciding on the run to change the position of the items held in her arms, Rahdi grabbed hold of the canteen and slung it across her chest. The strap cut uncomfortably between her breasts. But like everything else caused by the situation she was in, there was nothing she could really do about it. The canteen thumped lightly against her hip as she hurried down the corridor. The pale-red, knee length skirt she wore made soft swishing sounds in her ears with every step she took. It would almost be calming if the situation was different.

Without really thinking, she shoved the white envelope held in her hand under the elastic waistband of her skirt. Every part of her screamed for her to drop it on the ground and leave it – and the violence guaranteed by it – behind. But she wouldn't do that. Leaving it behind for someone else to find and use was just as bad as using it herself. And she refused to be a part of that violence. More and more, her mind was becoming firmly set on fighting against everything that 'the Blitz' represented the only way she knew how. Without violence. Keeping that envelope out of the hands of some other student was her first, small victory in the solitary war she was now fighting.

She hoped it wouldn't be the only one.

Her left hand gripped the GPS hard as Rahdi turned to look behind her and then quickly faced forward again. The span of hallway she'd just passed through was empty. But the building unease she'd felt since leaving the briefing room still clung to her. The pounding in her chest wouldn't slow.

There was no doubt in her mind that she was scared. Who in their right mind _wouldn't_ be scared in this kind of craziness? But she also knew she had to focus, had to concentrate. If she gave in to the fear and paranoia dogging her mind, gave in to the harsh words spoken by that Japanese soldier; Rahdi would have no hope of lasting long enough to meet up with Charlene again.

And being nonviolent didn't mean giving up on what you wanted to achieve.

Reaching the spot where the corridor intersected another hallway, Rahdi stopped at the left-side corner and poked her head around it cautiously. She made a quick scan of the wide, empty passageway beyond in a determined but tentative manner.

After a quick assessment, she figured that the corridor might be the main throughway for floor she was on. And that meant it could either lead to a central mess hall, one of the smaller lunch rooms or at the very least, to a stairwell that led to the lower floors. However, all three choices riddled her with as much relief as they did apprehension.

Heart still beating fast in her chest, Rahdi slipped around the corner and raised the GPS up with both hands as she moved down the new corridor with careful, nervous steps. The small device shook in her unsteady hands as she tried to work it; the pulling of the stitches in her right hand and the pain accompanying it not making things any easier.

Thumbs clicking on two buttons and then fumbling over the arrow key more than a few times finally brought up a detailed map of the Module. Rahdi risked a quick look down to the bright screen just long enough to see that it was the wrong floor and arrowed up a few more times after checking to make sure that no one was around.

And that was the odd pattern that Rahdi followed as she crept down the long hallway. Looking down at her GPS for a second or three and then returning her expecting eyes to the doors she passed; checking signs and symbols for anything that gave a hint of one of the three things she was searching for. Rahdi knew for certain that she would rather be closer to the ground than three floors above it. It would be that much easier to reconnect with Charlene when the girl came looking for her and escape to someplace where they couldn't be found by anyone. Someplace that would be safe from the violence; safe from the coming senseless murder.

Rahdi suddenly found herself stopping dead in her tracks.

_Someplace safe,_ she questioned to herself. _Someplace where no one can find us?_ _Is that even possible? Can we really just ride out all of this; hide from it until the end? Until only me and Charlene are left? But even if we did, what would happen then? With just the two of us left, what would we do? Only one of us can 'win'. So what do we do? Kill each other? Kill ourselves to let the other live?_

Rahdi's eyes widened at the thoughts rushing through her head and she forced herself to move again. How could she think of something like that? Those choices weren't answers to their problems; they _were_ the problems! Violence. Death. Killing for the sake of living. Those would _never_ be a solution. Not as long as she held the tenets of Buddhism close to her heart.

But Charlene was a different story. She'd known the girl long enough to know that she possessed an overdeveloped sense of protecting what she cared about. Usually by doing violence. That was how they had first met, oddly enough.

For that matter, Charlene's entire life was surrounded by violence; this Rahdi had learned after they'd become friends and she told her about the beatings she'd endured while her estranged father lived with her and her mother. They were now divorced but, as a part of his visitation rights, Charlene still had to spend two weekends out of the month with her father under cautionary supervision. Those times were often spent hunting with him; killing animals for fun and sport.

That was something that frightened her when she'd first heard it but gradually, Rahdi had grown to accept it as one of her friend's major faults. But now, given the circumstances, it seemed much more worrisome. To save her best friend, would Charlene give into the desire to do violence – kill if necessary? Would her murderous instincts from years of hunting with her father override any sense of decency or compassion? And if they ended up being the last two remaining; what would Charlene do then? Just how much of the girl she cared about would be left after the violence corrupted her heart? What would Charlene do? Give in to her hunter's instinct and kill her best friend to save her own life? Or would she sacrifice herself instead to protect Rahdi's life and give her the ultimate victory at the end of 'the Blitz'?

The thought of the girl making _either_ choice almost made Rahdi cry as she walked. Violence was _never_ the answer. It was the source of all the problems in the world. But knowing her friend like she did, Rahdi was sure she knew what the girl would do.

She would make the last choice.

And if the girl did _that_, she would never forgive her. How could she? Committing suicide was just another form of violence; the worst kind of violence. That which was done against yourself.

Worse still, there was no way she could enjoy living in the aftermath of 'the Blitz' knowing that her best friend had murdered herself to give her that life. It was something that she had to make sure didn't happen. She had to make sure that Charlene stayed away from the violence. She couldn't let the girl get poisoned by it. She would rather die a million times over than watch her closest friend kill in defense or kill herself. As long as she was alive, Charlene would never succumb to doing either.

_Never_.

A sudden noise, like plastic rubbing against plaster, carried through the silence of the corridor and touched her ears. Rahdi's heart leapt as she swung around. Her brown eyes were glazed over with fear as she tried to look everywhere at once; checking every doorway for any sign of movement. But nothing was there. She kept watching as she backpedaled down the corridor with slow steps, regardless. Rahdi couldn't make herself turn around. She _knew_ she had heard something! She wasn't just imagining it, she knew she wasn't!

Without warning, a head popped from around the corner. It took her a moment to recognize the face staring at her, but when she did Rahdi's eyes widened in terror. It was the messy-haired boy who'd left just before she had; the one who'd been leering at all the girls in a way that had almost made her skin crawl off. Had he been waiting on her to exit from the briefing room? Had he been camping out, hiding, just to come after her?

Rahdi's heart began to pound so loud in her chest that she could hear it clearly in her ears. She could almost feel the blood pumping through her veins and arteries. Her muscles were tensed and a sort of nervous energy began to wash over her. It suddenly became very obvious to Rahdi that her body was preparing to do what her mind had been repeating over and over since she'd first heard the noise.

_Run._

The tall teenager stepped out from around the corner and stood at the intersection with his arms raised teasingly in the air. The canteen that had given him away was slung across his chest the same way as hers. That mischievous smirk on his lips still present, he widened it into a toothy smile before saying, "Oops."

That was all it took. Rahdi stopped backpedaling, turned and broke out into a full run down the remaining length of hallway. Behind her, there was an immediate sound of heavy footfalls striking hard against the metal deck. He was running after her! Rahdi's mind almost went blank with terror as she ran harder than she ever had before. There was a fleeting thought – a hope – that there was a stairwell at the end of the corridor. Because if there wasn't, she knew that it would be all over for her.

Ahead of her, the end of the hallway grew closer and closer by the second. Despite everything being a blur as she vaulted down the humid corridor, Rahdi noted that it ended in another T-intersection. She had to make a decision and she had to make it quick. Left or right? Which way should she go?

The heavy footfalls of the boy pursuing her drew closer and Rahdi's heart felt like it was going to explode in her chest. Sweat stained her body and beaded heavily across her brow. The humidity in the air made her feel like she was trying to breathe water. She didn't know how much longer she could keep up her slowing pace. She was used to running but far from being athletic enough to maintain it for any good length of time. The loose skirt she was wearing, the sandals and her sizable breasts weren't really helping her situation either. If the chase kept up for any longer, he would definitely catch her. And when he did…

Rahdi was quick to drop that last thought.

Nearing the T-intersection, she made a very hasty decision to go right. The footfalls behind her had lessened somewhat and didn't seem as close as they had a few seconds earlier. Maybe the boy was tiring. Maybe the humidity in the corridor was getting to him too. Or maybe he was just out of shape. Either way, it was giving her a little breathing room. But not much more than that.

Rounding the corner at the speed she was going, Rahdi's skirt and sandals almost tripped her up. She was barely able to keep from falling at the last moment. As she steadied herself, it occurred to her that that might have been the reason why the boy behind her had slowed down. Maybe he wasn't tired or out of shape. Maybe instead, he was waiting for her to slip and fall. That would've been much easier for him than keeping up the chase. The thought sent a sharp shiver through her as she tried to recover the speed she'd lost coming around the corner.

In front of her, two large double doors were open and locked into place against the hallway walls. Beyond them, a big room full of round tables with four chairs each. Just through the doorway, she could see the bottom part of a wide flatscreen HDTV hanging high on the far wall. It didn't take her long to figure out just where she'd arrived.

She had reached the main Mess Hall on the _Kasanagi-Etō_.

At least, that what Rahdi was hoping. If it was, there might be a better chance of Charlene checking there first. In fact, she might be looking for her now. Rahdi was sure that enough time had passed since her friend had left the briefing room. And if that was the case, then all she had to do was stay hidden and avoid the boy chasing after her.

But she was sure that was going to be easier said than done.

Rahdi rushed through the double-wide doorway without looking behind her. The footfalls ringing against the metal deck were again becoming loud in her ears. It was all the proof she needed to know that the boy was still after her.

As soon as she entered the Mess Hall, Rahdi turned right and cut across the main floor of the room as fast as she could. She'd been in enough cafeterias to know the common layout. Most of them seemed to follow a similar pattern of the food serving area being to the immediate right of the main entrance and this one was no different. Her legs ached as she pushed them harder.

What she was heading for was the small opening that led behind the service counter and into the kitchen itself. If she could make it there before the boy entered, Rahdi could hide herself and buy some time for Charlene to find her. Afterall, her pursuer might rethink his position if he had to face off against two instead of just one. It was a gamble, though. But it was one that she had to take.

The boy's footsteps echoed just outside the door opening. Fear making her heart pound harder, she ran past the opening and immediately dropped to her hands and knees. She crawled the rest of the way behind the counter just as the pursuing footfalls came to a sudden stop. The rapid beats of her heart were loud in her ears. She could feel her body shaking as she grabbed the canteen strap with the hand not holding the GPS to keep it from brushing against the deck. Her breathing was heavy and labored. Sweat seemed to be running from every pore and her damp skin caused the clothes she wore to cling to her body. The scent of old urine crept back into her nose, brought back to life by the sweat that had formed on her inner thighs.

But her fear, her panic at the fact that the boy saw her run behind the service counter, made it easy to ignore all of that. Remaining still, Rahdi tried to focus on listening for his footsteps. But it was harder to do than she thought it would be. The sound of her beating heart and hoarse breathes escaping her parted lips seemed to drown out everything else around her. If she couldn't force herself to calm down, he would already be on top of her before she even had a chance to hear him coming.

"I know you're behind the bar," the boy called out. "If I have to waste my fucking time coming back there to get you, I'm gonna be pretty pissed."

Rahdi thought her heart might have actually skipped a beat when he spoke. Mind almost going blank again with terror, she crawled away from the bar as quick as she could manage without making any noise. On primal survival instinct alone, she pushed herself deeper into the kitchen of the Mess Hall. She had to keep hidden until Charlene found her! That's all she had to do. Just keep hidden!

"Fucking Christ," the boy exclaimed in an annoyed voice, "I'm not even gonna hurt you! I saw your buddy in that room and the way she ran that one dude down to get to you was pretty fucking hardcore. So, I figured that if I snagged your little ass, she'd have no choice but to do what I said. You know, to make things easier on me."

Rahdi almost stopped crawling the instant he'd finished those last two sentences but she forced herself to keep going. However, what he had said still echoed over and over in her head. He was planning on using her as a hostage? Just to get Charlene to help him? Could she really believe that?

"You see," she heard him continue as the sound of his footsteps slowly made their way through the dining area, "all this bullshit? Not my thing. I've got a friend who might be getting wood off this crap, but this '_Survivor_ with guns' shit ain't really doing it for me." He seemed to pause for a moment, in both steps and words, and then just as quickly resumed. "That's why I need your friend. I heard her talking back in the room to that Jap bitch. She sounds like a redneck to me and we both know that rednecks like to hunt. Which means they also like to kill. And that's when I thought 'Rob, old buddy, that solves _all_ your problems right there'. Judging by the way she was holding you, she'd probably do anything to keep you from getting hurt. Right? So the way I see it, she kills whoever gets in our way – which keeps me from hurting you or worse – and I get to keep my hands clean and my conscience guilt-free. Sounds like the perfect plan to me."

This time, Rahdi did stop. What he was suggesting was… It was horrible! It was the threat of violence piled on top of forcing Charlene to commit violence! A perfect plan? It was an absolutely disgusting plan! One she refused to be a part of. There was no way she would willingly participate!

"'Come out, come out, wherever you are'," he sung. Rahdi's eyes widened. His voice was much closer than before. How did he get that much closer without her even noticing? Was he behind the serving bar now? How close _was_ he?

Rahdi scrambled on her hands and knees awkwardly, both the GPS and the canteen hindering her movements. She took a quick look over her shoulder. Her heart was still beating loud in her ears. Fear and panic filled every corner of her body; every corner of her mind. Seeing the oblong shadow of the boy inching along the cold metal floor almost made her scream. But she kept her mouth shut tightly as she crept around the end of a line of industrial ovens. Once there, she sat up and leaned back against them to give her aching hands and knees a rest. Her breathing hadn't slowed and neither had her heart rate. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take.

_Charlene, where are you?_

"Oh you're a sneaky one, aren't you?" the boy questioned with a laugh. "I can see chasing you is gonna be more work than I wanted. But it's a pretty small kitchen and finding you shouldn't be _that_ hard." Rahdi found herself moving away from the edge of the oven line. He didn't know where she was in the kitchen, so she still had a small advantage. But how long would that last? Could she hold out until Charlene found her? The boy spoke out again, his words carrying a menacing tone. "When I find you – and I _will_ find you – I'm gonna make you pay for making me work so hard."

There was a sudden, brief sound of metal sliding against metal. It was a noise that Rahdi didn't recognize but all the same increased her already tense uneasiness. Whatever it was, she was sure it wasn't going to be good news for her.

She did a crouching walk to the opposite end of the oven line. Swallowing unconsciously, she made herself peer around the corner of the large appliance. The narrow space between the ovens, food preparation areas and other stations was empty. Rahdi repositioned herself with her back against the wide oven door and looked back down the line to other end. There was nothing else there and no hint of the boy's shadow creeping up the path she'd taken to get where she was now. She allowed herself a deep breath.

_He's not talking anymore,_ she noted. _Does that mean he's trying keep me from knowing where he is? What am I going to do? Because I don't know where he is, moving in any direction might get me caught. And I can't get caught!_

Knowing the risks, Rahdi made a hasty decision. Turning and pushing up on her toes, she grabbed hold of the oven's top. Slowly raising herself up until she was level with it, she took a quick look around the kitchen without trying to reveal too much of her head. It was pretty well-lit due to the overhead fixtures and that made what she was doing even more dangerous. Spotting him was going to be as easy for her as it would be for the boy.

Peeking up over the stove a little more, she made another quick scan of the kitchen. It was bigger than she originally thought. But it was still too small to keep her hidden for any good length of time. She continued to search for any sign of the boy who was intent on making her his hostage as a way to control her friend Charlene. The thought would never stop disgusting her. Using her as a way to force Charlene to kill for him. It was just too unthinkable!

Eyes catching a sudden movement to her far right made Rahdi drop down below the stovetop. Her breath caught as a deep, penetrating fear reasserted itself. Had that been him? She decided against risking another look. If that _had_ been him, the next time she popped her head up past the stovetop might get her spotted. And that was if he hadn't spotted her already.

Either way it went, Rahdi couldn't remain where she was.

Dropping back down into her original crouching position, she slid to the end of the oven line and stole a quick look around it. The narrow passage was still empty. Without hesitating, Rahdi slipped around it and cautiously moved down it at a deliberate pace. Heart still beating loud in her ears and humidity in the kitchen making it feel hotter than she was sure it really was, she tried to keep herself as calm as possible. With the boy searching the rear areas of the kitchen, it was possible to make it back to the front where the serving counter was. If she could just avoid his notice until then, if she could just get up there and make her way around the counter; she could run back into the corridor and escape from the boy and his insane scheme.

The sweat cresting on her brow traced a number of lines down her face that only increased her nervousness and tension. It was getting into her eyes and making them sting, but she refused to raise a hand to wipe the sweat drops away. She just couldn't risk it, especially with both hands occupied with keeping the GPS and canteen from making any unnecessary noise. It was more important that she kept the boy from locating her. She wouldn't be used like that! She would not become a tool to create violence!

A noise somewhere at the back of the kitchen almost made her jump. She quickly turned her head back in the direction that she had come. To her relief, there was nothing there. Taking a hesitant breath, Rahdi leaned back against a food prep station as her heart beat very hard behind her ribcage. She had to keep herself calm. If she panicked, he _would_ find her. All she had to do was listen out for him and move carefully. She gazed with longing eyes at the service counter. It was so close, so very close. Just another few feet and she would be able to escape.

_All I have to do is be careful._

That was the last thought she had as a hand entangled itself in her long, dark hair and yanked her up from the floor. Rahdi's scream was immediate. Instinctively, she dropped both the GPS and the canteen strap. The former clattered to the metal flooring while the latter thumped against her hip. Panic seized her and blocked out all rational thinking. Her hands rose up to his arm, grabbing a tight hold on it in a vain effort to push it away. But that only brought the pain of her hair being nearly ripped from her scalp. Regardless, she continued to struggle.

She would not allow herself to be used!

Suddenly, something cold and sharp pressed itself against her throat just above her collar. That was followed by the boy's voice. "Keep squirming around and I might accidentally cut you."

Rahdi froze.

"Good girl," he crooned. "See, told you I'd find you. Pretty cool what you can catch by just tossing a ladle around, isn't it? Now come on, let's go see if we can find your fucking friend."

A knife. That's what that unrecognizable noise had been. The sound she'd heard must have been him picking it up from the surface of one of the prep stations. How could she have not realized that?

A rude jerk of her hair brought a grimace to her face.

"I said, let's go," the boy repeated in a serious tone. "Don't you think you've pissed me off enough for today? Huh? Now move."

This time she didn't hesitate. Rahdi quickly shuffled around the end of the prep station she'd been resting against. She did so carefully to prevent the knife being held at her throat from going any deeper than necessary. A moment later, he was marching her toward the front of the kitchen where it met with the service counter.

"I oughta smack your ass around for making me chase after you," the boy grumbled as he guided her around the wide, glass-cased counter. Even though the knife remained steady against her throat, Rahdi tried not to move. She barely even breathed. If the boy was willing to hold her as a hostage, if he was willing to hold a knife to her throat; who knew what else he was capable of. After all of her bold declarations of how she wasn't going to be used as a tool for creating violence, that's exactly what she was going to end up being.

_I'm sorry Charlene, I tried._

"Smile kiddo," her captor stated loudly, "you'll be with your gal-pal soon enough. You should be happy about that. I mean, the way you two were huggi –"

There was an odd whistling sound as something zipped just past her face. The boy's words cut off abruptly as his body jerked backward. As it did, the knife raked across her throat. She could feel the blade slice into the skin just on the side of her neck. Not deeply, but enough for her to notice. On instinct, her right hand shot to the injury.

What was happening? What was going on?

The hand tangled in her hair loosened. Rahdi wasted no time in quickly moving away from the boy. As she turned to see what had happened, why he'd let her go; a familiar voice rang out from behind.

"Rahdi…_MOVE!_"

She had barely turned herself back toward the doorway when Charlene raced by. Rahdi watched the girl with a mixture of emotions. Her brown eyes followed her friend as she rushed the boy who'd been holding her hostage and shoved him into the serving counter. She backed away on unsteady legs as she watched Charlene punch him hard in the arm holding the knife.

But he didn't drop it.

So she punched him again and again. After the fourth punch, his hand opened and it fell to the metal deck with a loud clattering sound. She kicked it away but as she did, the boy used his other hand to grab her by the head.

With terrified eyes, Rahdi gasped as Charlene was shoved away from the boy hard enough to stumble over her own feet. The flaxen-haired girl fell to the floor and immediately began to backpedal before managing to push back up to her feet. As she rose, the boy rushed her. Rahdi's heart almost leapt into her throat at seeing the danger her friend was in. But she just stood there, rigid as stone.

She wanted to help, but she wouldn't violate her beliefs. She wouldn't give in to doing violence! Even if it meant standing idly by and watching her best friend get beaten down by someone who'd been willing to hold her hostage. She took a few more unsteady steps backward but stopped when her feet bumped into something.

Turning her head and looking down, she saw a big, bulky object of curved black metal, pulleys and three wires stretched between the two ends. Beside it was a case with a number of long, skinny rods with feathered ends of similar color sticking up out of it. Somewhere in her mind, she knew exactly what she was looking at. But she just couldn't process the information. Pulling her gaze away from what was sitting next to her feet, she returned it to the fight going on between her friend and the boy. Her eyes were wide and her thoughts were racing.

_Is that…? Is that really…? Charlene! She needs me! But I can't help her! I can't go against what I believe in! I want to, but I just can't!_

The boy had managed to push Charlene back against the wall. Her clear blue eyes were staring up into the sneering face of the boy who was trying to wrap his good hand around her collared throat. The other was hanging limply at his side. That was when Rahdi saw it. A slender, black rod or something sticking out the front of his right shoulder. It looked just like the ones in the case lying next to her feet.

After a few seconds of struggling, Charlene was finally able to maneuver her left leg between the boy's. Without any kind of warning or hesitation, she brought her knee up into his groin with a vicious thrust. There was a sharp scream from his mouth as he let go of her, stumbled away and doubled over.

Charlene raised a hand to her throat as she scooted along the wall to put some distance between herself and the boy until she was stopped by a dish tray. Rahdi watched as the girl gazed at the dishes on the tray for a long second. She then reached down and grabbed one of the largest and heaviest ones she could find. Afterwards, she turned back to the boy and moved over in his direction with quick feet.

Realization and panic washed over Rahdi at the exact same time.

"No!" she shouted just as Charlene raised the large plate high in the air with two hands and brought it crashing down as hard as she could on the back of the doubled over boy's head. The dish shattered and he crumpled to the floor like a puppet that had had its strings cut. Almost in surprise, Charlene dropped what was left of the plate and staggered back against the service bar as she gazed down at the moaning boy; taking a deep, shuddering breath.

Rahdi, hand still held against the shallow cut on the side of neck, stared her friend with fearful eyes. It was the first time that she'd really had a chance to get a good look at her friend since she'd left the briefing room. But the girl Rahdi was gaping at now wasn't the same one who'd left.

Most of her skin was covered with grease and scrapes. The same could be said about her clothes; they were dirty and had a few rips and tears in them. But it was really her face that Rahdi couldn't stop gawking at.

There was a large scrape on her left-side cheek and what looked like a bloodied knot on her forehead. From her appearance alone, she could tell that friend's trip back to the Quarters Module to find her hadn't been an easy one. It made her guilty seeing what her friend had gone through to get back to her. Did she really have a right to judge her friend's actions?

"'No' what?" Charlene asked quietly as she pushed away from the glass-cased counter.

Rahdi just stared at her friend for a few seconds and then dropped her eyes down to her sandaled feet. "N-nothing," she replied without looking up.

"Look," Charlene began, "I know you're a Buddhist and everythin' but you gotta understand what's goin' on 'round here, Rahdi. This here's a situation where it's killed or be killed. To protect you, I ain't got no choice but to fight." Before she knew it, Charlene's hands were gently gripping her shoulders. Rahdi couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through her body at the girl's touch. "It's the only way to keep you safe."

Averting her eyes from her feet, Rahdi opened her mouth to reply but instead held her words. She just couldn't stop her body from shivering! She wished that she could've kept it from happening, but she just couldn't help it; because it wasn't caused by the joy of seeing her friend again. She _wanted_ that to be the reason why. But it wasn't.

She knew what was really causing it. Terror and fear. It was caused by the brutality and violence she had seen with her own eyes. And even though she was grateful for Charlene saving her from the boy, she couldn't wash away fear and disgust that she felt being brought on by her touch. Just how much had the girl changed in the time they'd been separated? What _else_ had she done?

"I…I know," Rahdi forced out, still unable to raise her eyes to Charlene's face. "But…but that doesn't mean I…I have to like it."

Charlene's hands fell from her shoulders. "I don't expect you to," was all she said in response.

At the sound of her friend turning and walking away from her, Rahdi slowly looked up. Charlene was moving back to toward the unmoving boy. Once she was standing next to him, she used her foot to push him over onto his back. Rahdi took a few tentative steps forward but Charlene raised a hand up to ward her off.

"I ain't gonna do nothin' to him, Rahdi," she said in a nasty tone, "even though I'm sure he _more_ than deserves it. All I wanna do is get my arrow back and then we can be on our way."

An arrow? Was that how she'd escaped from him? Was that why he'd let go of her? Is that what Charlene had done to save her? Shot the boy with an arrow? She felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she thought about the oblong object lying just behind her feet. It was all making sense to her now.

The questions and realizations were still bouncing around in Rahdi's head as she watched Charlene grab hold of the arrow and brace a hand against the boy's chest. She stared as her friend tightened her grip on the arrow. Even though she'd never seen an arrow pulled from someone's body, she knew it would be something that she didn't want to see. Before Charlene could pull the arrow out, Rahdi closed her eyes and turned her head. When the fleshy, ripping sound touched her ears; she felt her stomach lurch in nausea.

_Violence only begot more violence,_ the words echoed eerily in her head.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

Jimmy Turner has endured a lot; a near split with his girlfriend, almost failing to qualify for the trip and finally, having to deal with her friends hating him for no apparent reason. To top all of that, he now finds himself trapped with her in some crazed game of survival where only one of them can make it out alive. Already introduced to 'the Blitz's' brutality early on by defying Omatsu Reiko, Jimmy has nonetheless made his girlfriend's safety his sole and only concern despite the dire consequences it could inevitably bring.

With everything around them descending into chaos and madness, with students poised to commit unthinkable acts of violence against each other; will Jimmy and his girlfriend, Leslie Thurston, choose to follow in the path of other 'star-crossed lovers' trapped in past 'Programs'?

**Coming soon, "A Strange Kind of Irony",**

**Chapter 10 of **_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

This chapter was very slow to start. Rahdi Patel was a very interesting character from the moment I conceived of her. While early on I wanted to introduce a Christian character in the story, I decided against it as I began to work on this rewrite. From what I had seen, the Christian trope was being used in almost every American BR story. I also decided against a pacifist due to the same reasons. So, I did a little research on Buddhism and Ahimsa and found out that they were compatible with the idea that I had for my Christian character. So, I created Rahdi Patel.

From the moment I wrote her into Charlene's chapter, I knew that I was going to like her. I also knew that she would be a great contrast to Charlene was well. Their friendship came together so well that it nearly surprised me. Out of all my characters so far, Rahdi seems the most believable in how she reacts to the violent world she's forced into. Well, at least that's my opinion of her. I'm not really sure how everyone else will accept her.

On a side note, I'm sorry for not getting online Kelley. I should've warned you that I have a very bad habit of not keeping up with my contacts once I make them. It's not that I don't want to chat with them, it's just that – with work – there's a lot I try to fit into my day. I never feel like I have enough time to devote to everything I like to do. I don't know if you – or any others I added to my contact list understand this – but I apologize if I've hurt any feelings.

Oh yeah Kelley, you also asked a question about Misty a long while ago. You wanted to know whether she looked manly or was extremely beautiful (because of a common set of tropes among the 'sports girl' stereotype). The only real answer I can give you is to look up 'girls' volleyball' on Google Images. There are some perfect examples of Misty's basic physique to be found in those pictures. But if you need a cut and dry description…

Misty is a girl who could be pretty if she wasn't so vehemently against it. She is a tomboy to the core and doesn't concern herself with looking 'girly'.

I hope that helps out a little.

Okay, I gonna go now because I just pulled an all-nighter on this chapter to finish it. If there any grammar/spelling mistakes, I apologize and will give it a thorough proofing at a later date. But for now, enjoy the newest chapter of _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_!

Terryll

PS… The deaths are coming, I promise. It wouldn't be much of a BR if no one died, now would it? LOL!

PPS… Kelley, you were right. The chapter eight title "The Side You Bread is Buttered On" makes very little sense. I really think I named it that because Brenda was supposed to go on a tear about how Nick was Alisia's and no one else's. She supposed to inform him as to 'which side his bread was buttered on' meaning, which girl was better for him in the long run – Alisia or Vikki. But I never got that far and favored a quick chapter to a long-winded one. Yes, I should've changed the name…LOL! But in the name of keeping ties with previous chapters, Alisia uses the line to describe Nick in her chapter ("He knows what side his bread is buttered on."). Yeah, sucky, confusing chapter title. But hey, I could've used the 'Day Number, Hour Number, Students Remaining' thing you hate so much…LOL! _Ciao_!


	16. A Strange Kind of Irony

**1****st**** AMERICAN BLITZ**

* * *

**CHAPTER 10**

**Boys, No. 14**

**James 'Jimmy' Turner**

**and  
**

**Girls, No. 15**

**Leslie Thurston  
**

**"****A Strange Kind of Irony"**

* * *

The side of his face hurt like hell and he could still taste blood in his mouth. He knew for a fact that at least two of his back teeth were severely loosened thanks to the butt of that soldier's rifle. He was also sure that there was a deep, dark bruise stretching from his jaw up to a deep gash just at the corner of his left eye. The blood marring that side of his face was dried now; crusted and slowly beginning to flake off. The cut stopped bleeding a while ago after the blood had clotted and formed a dark red scab over the injury.

Sweaty hand still clasped around his girlfriend's wrist, Jimmy blinked his left eye repeatedly. Something was wrong with it, that much he was certain of. When the Japanese soldier hit him, the butt of the rifle had come within inches of striking it. Now everything viewed from his left eye seemed dimmer than anything he saw with the right. And it didn't seem to be getting any better. Whether it was temporary or not, he didn't know. But it scared him.

Behind him, Leslie Thurston was breathing hard as he cut around another corner, ran the length of the long corridor and pushed through a dirty white door marked 'exit' without pausing. It opened heavily on unoiled hinges, metal-on-metal squeal echoing through the small area they were entering. Jimmy was dead-set to keep running, but the abrupt appearance of a stairway railing brought him to a quick stop. He stumbled into it in an awkward kind of way, bumping up against with his left hip. Grabbing hold of the cool metal with his free hand, Jimmy steadied himself before he could accidentally tumble over.

_The stairwell, _he thought as he turned to catch Leslie so that she wouldn't crash into the railing like he had. _We've reached the stairwell! This might not be a bad place to stop since we're two of the last people to leave the room. We really need to catch our breath._

Backing away from the railing, Jimmy pulled his girlfriend over to the wall as the door gave a loud _click_ when it shut behind them. The noise echoed through the small space of the stairwell. Jimmy held his breath as the piercing sound carried well beyond where they stood. He was sure that Leslie was doing the same. The _click_ from the door reverberated up and down the shaft. He hoped that they were the only ones in the stairwell. If not…

After a lengthy pause, Jimmy slowly turned to his girlfriend. He hoped he wasn't making the wrong decision. "We…can…rest…here," he said, sucking in air between every word in an effort to catch his breath.

Face slick with perspiration, Leslie didn't say anything in return; only nodding as she bent over where she stood and began to take deep, shuddering breaths. Content for the moment, Jimmy leaned back heavily against the wall and placed his long, muscled arms on his hips; doing the same. The pain in the side of his face throbbed but he did what he could to ignore it. He really did hope that no one else was in the stairwell. That was one complication he _didn't_ need.

They'd been on the run ever since he decided to stand outside the briefing room, after being pushed out by soldiers once he'd been collared, to wait for Leslie. Two minutes later, a fat girl was shoved out of the room but he ignored her. She didn't matter, only his girlfriend did. As soon as the girl got her bearings and saw him standing there, she gave a startled scream and immediately began to wobble off in the other direction. Seeing her trying to run would've made him laugh at any other time.

But that was the last thing he wanted to do with everything that had already happened to him.

When his girlfriend was finally shoved out the doorway, it'd been done in such a rough, careless way that she almost ended up smacking her head against the wall. If he hadn't been there to catch her, she could have been knocked out or worse! And the soldiers responsible, they…they were _laughing_ about it!

All Jimmy remembered seeing was red. What had happened to Leslie was only adding to everything _else_ that already boiled within him. Without even thinking – or really giving a damn – about the consequences, he had begun to walk toward the soldiers laughing in the doorway after he'd made sure that Leslie was okay. As soon as they saw him, their rifles were unslung and raised; a warning for him to stop.

But at the time, he didn't care.

He was so pissed at the way the bastards had treated him, had treated his girlfriend that he honestly didn't give a shit _what_ happened. They were all going to die anyway, right? What did it matter if it happened a little earlier than _they_ wanted?

It was only when Leslie reached out to wrap her hands around his arms did he stop. He remembered the look in her eyes, the tears as she shook her head at him not to do it. That fear of being left alone in a world gone mad was etched all across her sweaty face. It all but burned in her eyes. He knew then that he couldn't leave her. He had to stay by her side, be there with her even at the end.

That was what it meant to be in love.

Before he knew it, they were running; her dragging him along. About a minute or two after, he had taken the lead. Afterall he was the man. It was his job to protect her. That's the way he had been raised. To be a man and take responsibility for the one he loved. And there was no doubt in his mind that he loved Leslie.

It was unquestionable.

Lowering his head from where it was resting against the wall, he looked over at his girlfriend. Clad plainly in a pleated black skirt that stopped at her knees, a dark-blue 'Evanescence' t-shirt and sandals; she was just as beautiful as the day he'd asked her out for that first date. Even with the worn, haggard look on her heart-shaped face and the wrinkles of worry creasing the corners of her teary green eyes; she was still an object of absolute perfection to him.

The long, red hair flowing over her slender shoulders and the strap of her canteen matched the fiery temper she sometimes showed him. Her skin was pale; blemished here and there with imperfections, scrapes and scratches. But that didn't bother him. It just made her seem that much more real and believable to him. Moreso because she was a scrapper, just like him.

Unlike some of his other friends at Grand Terrace High – the few he actually had – he didn't have any unrealistic fantasies for what his girlfriend should look like. Leslie Thurston was fine just the way she was. Loud-mouthed and bossy, she was always more than eager to start an argument than to try and talk things through. And he would never change that. It was probably the reason they'd been together for almost two years.

In fact, she was _nearly_ as charming to him now as she'd been the first time they had met.

_**-O-**_

"_Hey. Hey! Are you Jimmy Turner?"_

_The boy in question was sitting at a warped and worn old picnic table in what passed for the recreation area of Grand Terrace High School. He brushed a hand over the deep trace of his newest 'masterpiece', sketched into the wood of it with his pocket knife, to clear away curls left behind. Afterward, he looked up in the direction of the girl's voice. "Yeah, who wants to –"_

_The full-faced slap across his left cheek stunned him more than it hurt._

"_That was for Casey Fuller, you fucking asshole!"_

_Jimmy sat there for a moment in total disbelief of what had just happened. Then, in a sudden surge of anger, he was up on his feet. His knife was gripped tight in his right hand while the other messaged his reddening cheek._

"_You bitch!" he yelled furiously, "You'd better have a _good_ fucking reason for slapping me like that!"_

"_You're a bully," the girl exclaimed, staring him straight in the eyes. "I don't really need much more of a reason than that! But if you _want_ another one, here it is. You just happened to pick a friend of _mine_ to beat up! I didn't like that. You do the math."_

_What the fuck was the idiot girl talking about? _Who_ the fuck was she talking about? Yeah, he was a bully. Jimmy wouldn't deny that. But did this bitch really expect him to remember every little snot-nosed shit he beat up? And just who the hell was this loud-mouth cunt anyway?_

"_Oh, I'm sorry. Did I slap the words out of your mouth?"_

_Jimmy's eyes narrowed in aggravation and his gaze hardened. "Fuck you! Like I'd let a stupid slut like you get away with –"_

_The girl rushed up to him as he was talking and, before he even knew it, was standing right in front of him. She didn't say anything as she placed her hands on his chest and gave him a hard shove backwards. Jimmy's words were cut off before he could finish them as he tripped over his own feet while trying to keep from falling. He succeeded somewhat but, unfortunately, had forgotten about the picnic table bench behind him._

_His legs caught the edge of where he'd been sitting. Unable to keep himself upright, Jimmy tumbled over the bench and fell back-first into the corner of the table. He stifled a grunt as his momentum bounced him off of it and onto the dusty ground. The impact jarred the pocket knife out of his hand as he landed. By the time the unceremonious trip had ended, his back felt like someone had just hit him in it with a baseball bat. Who in the fuck _was_ this girl?_

_The sound of her feet crunching against the cracked, dry ground he was laying on brought his eyes up. The girl was standing over him, arms crossed over her chest and wearing a look on her face that was so smug it instantly made his blood boil._

"_Actually," she said, voice teasing, "_this_ stupid slut just did."_

_At that moment, Jimmy's mind just went blank with anger. Pushing up from the ground, he rushed at the girl with an enraged growl. His arm pulled back almost on instinct and launched toward her face. Two seconds later, he felt her hands wrap around it. Three seconds after that, the world spun and he was on the ground again flat on his back trying to recapture the air knocked from his lungs. All he could do was stare up at the bright, spring-day sky in absolute astonishment as a light layer of dust rose up around him._

"_Wondering what just happened," the girl asked casually as she walked past him without worry. "I have three older brothers. Two of them are in the military and taught me a few tricks to defend myself. Oh and just so you know, _that_ wasn't one of them. _That_ was something I learned in my self-defense class. If I'd used what my brothers taught me, your arm would be broken. Now listen and listen good cause I'm only going say this once. Don't fuck with Casey again!"_

_The expression on Jimmy's face was incredulous. He raised his head dizzily to stare at the girl's back as she walked away, noticing for the first time that her hair was red. A ginger-kid with an attitude, figured. Propping up on his elbows, he pushed up part way from the ground. He still had no idea who the Casey person was she'd been going on about. But he'd be damned if he was going to let her leave without finding out who the fuck _she_ was!_

"_H…Hey," he called out. "Jus…just who…the _fuck_ are you?"_

_The red-headed girl didn't stop walking nor did she turn around to face him._

"_Hey _ginger-kid_," he yelled derogatorily. "I asked you a fucking question! Answer me!"_

"_I'm the girl that just kicked your ass," she replied in a loud voice mockingly. "Remember what I said!"_

_With that, she rounded the corner of the school building and disappeared from view; leaving Jimmy to stew in anger as he sat up all the way and stared in the direction she'd gone._

_**-O-**_

Leslie gazed up from the dirty metal deck, regarded him for a moment and then asked, "What?"

"I…I was just thinking of how beautiful you are," Jimmy replied absently, shaking away the less-than-fond memories of their first meeting.

Groaning, Leslie rolled her eyes as she stood up straight. She took another deep breath and then released it.

"You're so full of shit," she grunted in a tired voice, leaning back against the wall next to him and lowering down to the deck as gently as she could. Afterward, she folded her hands across her lap.

Jimmy watched her with an irritated expression as she did. He hadn't been expecting her to say something like that! Especially considering the situation they were in. "Where the fuck did _that_ come from," he asked, tone carrying a hint of anger.

"Where the fuck do you _think_ it came from, Jimmy? I mean, wow, it's not like we aren't in some kind of crazy, Japanese _deathmatch_ or anything!" she returned in annoyance, not bothering to look up at him.

"So because of _that_, I can't tell you how fucking beautiful you are?"

Leslie sighed. "Un-_fucking_-believable."

He was sure that the words were meant to sound aggravated or angry, but to him they sounded sad and half-hearted. Not like he didn't understand, given what was happening to them both. But that still didn't give her the right to treat him like that. Hell, she'd been acting that way for the past couple of weeks! Before any of this shit had even started! Just what was her deal? Just what had he done wrong _this_ time?

Pushing from the wall, he stepped out in front of her and crouched down. Their eyes met; angry, questioning gaze meeting a dull yet defiant glare. Her lips quivered like she was going to say something else. Yet she held her words. The expression on her face was beginning to change, becoming less threatening and more vulnerable. He thought that there might've been more tears forming in her eyes. But before he could get a better look, she lowered her head and turned from him to stare toward the staircase opening. Jimmy's hands clenched into fists.

_I _know_ something's bothering her, _he thought in frustration._ She's been acting strange for the past couple of weeks. Even before we found out we were going on this stupid trip. So have her friends. They've been even bitchier to me than usual. And the look on her face practically screams that she wants to tell me something. Is she getting ready to cry? Dammit! What the fuck's wrong with her?_

"What the hell is your problem?" he barked.

Leslie's hands clenched tight in her lap, but she still didn't turn to look at him.

"Leslie," he pushed again.

The small-framed girl heaved another sigh as she pulled her legs up closer to her chest and leaned her head against her bare knees. Her hands were still in place against her lap, trapped now between her thighs and lower abdomen. The light in the stairway shaft glistened faintly in the new tears he could see tracing a path down her cheek.

Slowly, he raised a hand and reached out to place it atop one of her knees. She gave a momentary shudder but still didn't look up at him. _I bet it's because she thinks we're gonna die. That's what's wrong with her. She doesn't think we're gonna live to see the end of this crazy shit. It's probably because of what I did back there when I was waiting for her. Fuck me for being so stupid! I just scared her even more than she already was! God, I'm such an ass!_

Expression becoming concerned, he began to rub the top of her knee. "H-hey," he began in a lower voice. "I…I'm sorry. What I did was really stupid. I didn't mean to scare you, hun. It was just…when I saw those soldiers shove you, I –"

"Jimmy, I…I…"

"It's okay. I'm not gonna do anything stupid like that again, I prom –"

Leslie raised her head to look up at him, expression anguished and eyes red from crying. "I…I'm pregnant," she interrupted, only just managing to get it out before breaking down completely.

Jimmy felt his entire world shatter around him as she pushed up from the floor to grab hold of him; burying her face deep in his chest. Too stunned by what she'd said to even notice that he had fallen back to the deck, he just gave a blank-eyed stare at the drab wall in front of him.

_Pregnant?_

He didn't even feel his arms move to grab her shoulders. He didn't even notice how hard his hands were gripping Leslie. He was numb. His entire body had gone numb. Had he heard her right? She couldn't have possibly just said that! Not with what was happening. It just _couldn't_ have been what she said!

With a sudden sense of urgency, Jimmy pushed Leslie away from him so that he could get a good look into her eyes. Feeling was returning to his body; cold and crushing. His heart was pounding in his chest and his head felt heavier than a brick. Fear had him firmly in its grasp.

"Wha…what did you just say?"

Leslie's face was still tortured by the revelation. Heavy tears fell from her green eyes without restraint. She just gazed up at him in absolute pain; mouth unable to form the words that gave their dire situation a new awfulness to dread. The expression she wore only made Jimmy more desperate to find out if that had really been what she said.

"Leslie…please, tell me you didn't…you didn't just say that!"

But his girlfriend didn't say anything, her face just scrunched up with even more grief.

Jimmy's eyes dropped from Leslie's face. They twitched about in bewilderment. "Oh God," he breathed. His fingers loosened and the death-grip he had on Leslie's shoulders slipped free. He felt like he was going numb again. The weight of the revelation and the timing of it were just too much to bear.

His girlfriend was _pregnant_!

Any sense of joy that he might have felt was buried under the crushing fact that the two of them were in an insane game where only _one_ of them could be left alive at the end. Just how would that work out? What would happen if somehow he and Leslie managed to be the last two living? Would he..? _Could_ he do what needed to be done?

A new wave of panic cut through him. He couldn't worry about that now. Leslie needed him; more than ever before. On top of that, there was something else that he wanted to know. No, it was something that he _needed_ to know.

He risked a look at her. She was still crying, arms crossed over her midsection and head lowered to stare at the floor. Just from the way she was crouched there on her knees, slouched down and shuddering; he could tell that she was in complete misery. And that made what he asked her next all the more painful for him.

"How…how long…" The few words he got out before gulping unconscionably were stammered, yet he was surprised at the calmness in his voice. It was even more surprising considering how unsteady he felt on the inside. Keeping his gaze focused on his girlfriend, he waited for her to reply. When she didn't, he asked again. "Leslie, how long have you…have you known?"

Lifting her head, she raised a trembling hand to her face and weakly wiped away the tears. "A…about a month."

_A month?_ He found himself angry with her for that. But he couldn't bring himself to yell at her, no matter how much he wanted to. It was obvious that she was already upset. Why add more on top of that? Yet, the answer she gave him boiled within his mind. _She's known she was pregnant with my baby for a _month_ and didn't tell me? Why?_

"Why," he asked, question echoing his thoughts. He felt the anger rising in him. But he had to keep calm. For Leslie and the baby's sake. "Why didn't you…tell me?"

She dropped her hand from her face and onto her lap, releasing an exasperated sigh as she did. "Oh, I don't know Jimmy," she began, voice and expression alike becoming irritated. "Maybe because of the shit you keep telling me? About whether or not you'd end up being like your fucking dad? I mean, Christ, with you saying shit like _that_ what'd you _expect_ me to do?"

"And _that's_ the reason?" he exploded, suppressed anger getting the better of him. "That's the reason you didn't tell me you were carrying my _baby_?"

"What was I supposed to think, huh? By the way you were talking; you obviously never got over him leaving! How could I tell you when I wasn't even sure about how you'd react?"

"But you could tell Jenny and Sandra, _right_? I mean, that's the reason they were acting all bitchy and shit around me, isn't it? _Isn't it_?"

Tears forming in her eyes again, Leslie's expression became heartbroken as she looked away from him for a second before returning her eyes to him. "God," she moaned. "Everything isn't always about you! I told them because they were the only ones I _could_ tell! I sure as hell couldn't tell my parents or my brothers! And you…you…you were…you were so… I just…I just…didn't…know…what to…do…"

Losing all of her anger and composure, Leslie's words trailed off and she began to cry again; harder than before. But he just stared and didn't say anything else. How could he? Her words had stunned him, almost more than the revelation that she was pregnant had.

His father. That'd been the reason why. He should've known all along that everything he'd told her about his feelings for the man would come back to haunt him. And that's just what had happened. It wasn't that Leslie hadn't wanted him to know. It was just that she didn't trust what he would after she told him.

And why would she?

How many times had he told her about his fears of being like his father? How many times had he told her about being afraid of leaving her if he ever got her pregnant; of not being able to handle the responsibility, just like his loser dad? How could he _not_ have expected her to react the way she had? And now look at them, screaming and blaming each other when they should've been trying to find a way out of this craziness for the sake of their unborn child. The irony of the situation made him sick to his stomach.

He sat there for another second or so, staring at his sobbing girlfriend with worried, but understanding eyes. Then he pushed back up to his feet and walked over to her. Not saying a word, he simply fell down to his knees and pulled her into a strong, comforting embrace. Leslie's reaction was immediate. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, anguished wails muffled but still growing louder.

Raising a hand from her back, Jimmy began to stroke her hair while uttering quiet, soothing words. "_Shhh_. It's okay, baby. Let it all out. I'm not going anywhere. Not now, not ever. I'll be with you and the baby until the end…I promise."

He wasn't lying in the least. She was his world now; his _only_ world. Her and their baby. They were the only things that mattered to him now. They were the reason he would fight in this craziness. He would fight so they could live. He would _not_ be like his father! He wouldn't leave the woman carrying his child when she needed him the most. He'd rather die than let that happen.

"Leslie," he said, "baby, we need to go. We can't just stay here in this stairwell where they can find us. I need to get you some –"

He stopped immediately. His eyes shot up toward the door. Someone was out there! Someone was outside the door! He'd just heard the noise they made! It was brief, but he knew it had been there. He didn't imagine it.

_Shit,_ he thought. _We gotta go. Now._

Not saying anything, he pulled Leslie to her feet, grabbed her arm and set off toward the stairs as quick as he could.

"J-Jimmy," she half-stammered, half-sobbed, "wa-wait…what're you doing? Where…where are we –"

"There's someone behind the door," he called out over his shoulder, cutting her off as he continued to pound down the stairway. "I heard them! Whoever it was must've been listening to us talk! They know, Leslie! They know you're pregnant! I'm fucking sure of it!"

"N…No," she breathed.

Jimmy heard her but didn't say anything. He just continued to run down the stairs with her in tow. They had to get away from the Quarters Module. Now! Whoever overheard them would definitely see Leslie as an easy target, especially if they got rid of him first. And he couldn't – _wouldn't!_ – let that happen!

They hit the first landing down from the one they'd been resting on but he ignored it and the door. One floor down wouldn't be safe for them. He had to get out of the Quarters Module, disappear into the rig itself. Only then would he feel it safe enough to rest again. But not before then.

Leslie kept pace with him as he descended another set of stairs and came to a third landing; the final landing. They had reached the platform level. Jimmy wasted no time in rushing up to the door and throwing all of his body weight against it. It groaned open heavily, squealing all the way as it slammed hard into the outside wall of the Quarters Module.

Stumbling through the doorway with Leslie doing the same behind him, he turned to catch her to make sure she didn't fall. Holding her close, he quickly scanned the area they had exited out into. They were on a wide walkway, white-painted safety railing a few feet in front of them. To either side were tall, green, box-like objects. They were as high as the doorway itself. Jimmy figured that they might've been some sort of generators but he didn't know for sure. Out beyond the railing laid the dull gray ocean, darkened by the dying light of the overcast day. The breeze coming off of it was much cooler than the hellish heat of the Quarters Module.

"You…okay," he asked Leslie breathily, relaxing his arms around her. She looked up at him with those sad, green eyes and nodded. The expression on her face almost tore his heart out. It was hard to see her like that; so weak and vulnerable.

_I _will_ keep you safe,_ he thought solemnly. _You and our baby._

Wrapping a hand around her wrist again, he turned away from her and walked out from in-between the two generators. "Come on," he urged her, "let's go find someplace to hide 'til we can figure things out." She said nothing in return, only following behind him quietly as he led her onto the wide walkway, chose a direction and began to run again.

The cool wind rose slightly against Jimmy as he bolted down the yellow-orange path painted down the middle of the walkway. It felt good as brushed past his skin but it did nothing to ease his weariness or the newfound, single-minded desire to keep his girlfriend and their unborn baby safe from harm. His legs felt tired and his lungs burned from all the running that he'd done. He wanted to just sit down and rest more than anything else. But he wasn't going to stop. Not until they were someplace where he wouldn't have to worry about running into anyone ready hurt him; or worse, hurt Leslie.

And Heaven help anyone who was stupid enough to try before they reached it.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

Wendy Prince has always been a leader. It was in her blood and gave rise to a deep desire that led to her election as the Freshman Class President at her high school. And that very same desire guides her actions in 'the Blitz'. Those actions? To enact a plan of escape and take as many students with her as possible. It is a task that was deemed nothing but impossible by 'the Blitz' Supervisor, Omatsu Reiko.

Yet the brutal woman's very words during the Orientation have given Wendy a sliver of hope that she had never considered; a solid foundation to build her plans on. But one question remains above all others. Can she truly trust any of those she intends to save?

**Coming soon, "The Best Laid Plan",**

**Chapter 11 of **_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I wasn't too sure if someone else had tried this already or not. Pregnancy in a _**Battle Royale**_fanfic. Most of the stories that I've skimmed through or read on didn't contain anything like this. A little too taboo, perhaps? I guess it might take some balls to put something like this into a story about teens murdering other teens. I mean, seriously, who in their right mind would put a pregnant girl in a story where she will most likely be murdered horribly and viciously? Easy enough answer…I would. Afterall, I've never liked playing by the rules of others. I suppose could say I was doing it for shock value or just doing it to be an insensitive jerk. Like Eric Bischoff once wrote, 'controversy creates cash', my 'cash' of course being reviews.

But those aren't the reasons. None of them are.

What I wanted to present with this story twist was basically the same thing I've done with a few other characters in _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_. I simply wanted to give them a reason to fight, a reason to kill…if they absolutely have to. I didn't want them like the kids in the _**Battle Royale**_ movie/book/manga. The teens in the original medium already knew what 'the Program' was and what it meant for them; which was why very few of them hesitated over murdering their friends. Most fanfics in general follow this formula.

But I didn't want to do that.

This is why the story is moving so slowly for everyone. Let me elaborate. According to the _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz's**_ storyline, _none_ of these kids have ever been forced into a situation like this. They've never even heard of a situation like this. Sure, there may have been rumors of it online and such; but the Japanese 'Program' was not general world knowledge. This is the first time that American teens have been exposed to 'the Program', or rather, a variation of it. So you can imagine that most, if not all, are very unsure of how to react to the fact that only one of them can survive. The most basic and irrepressible moral to Man – that involving taking another human life – is constantly tested and retested in these teens as the time marches by. 'The Blitz' will chip away at their moral compass, it will fray the edges of their sanity and it will force them to do things that lay hidden in the darkest corners of their minds. 'The Blitz' will eat away their innocence, chew it up and leave nothing but the raw desire to live. With that comes the warped need to rationalize and justify their murders. And suddenly, their 'reasons' for fighting become convenient excuses for killing.

And this brings us back to the tragic circumstances of Jimmy and Leslie. We all know that couples never last long in 'the Program'. They have a very bad habit of throwing themselves off cliffs or hanging themselves where psychos like Mitsuko Souma can find them. In general, they just don't have any staying power. I suppose that makes a fine amount of sense, though. I mean, can you imagine fighting all the way to the end with your girlfriend or boyfriend and _then_ be faced with the fact that one of you has to die? What would you do? To paraphrase the movie's tagline: "Could you kill someone you love?" This is a situation that Jimmy and Leslie now face; made even more difficult by the fact that she is carrying their unborn child.

So, what will happen to this incredibly tragic couple? Beats me. I don't give out spoilers. Guess you'll have to keep reading to find out.

But for now, enjoy the newest chapter of _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_!

Terryll

PS… I was in a bit of a rush to get this chapter out because I had fallen behind with my _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_ updates due to real-life circumstances and the hoildays. A final proofreading is still needed. So please forgive any mistakes that you find.

PPS… Another unanswered question asked by Kelley I need to answer. This one about Reiko Omatsu's daughter, a girl killed in Shogo Kawada's 'Program' that bears the name _Junko Omatsu_. To be honest, I hadn't made it that far in the _**Battle Royale**_ manga yet. But I did break with tradition and went ahead and read the 'Kawada Past Chapter'. Yet by doing so, I was left with quite the dilemma. There are three girls who would qualify for the character of Junko. The first being the young girl leaving the building in tears, the second being the one who tries to kill Kawada while he's searching for Keiko and last, the half naked one you mentioned who almost kills Shogo after he kills Keiko.

My description alone rules out the last one, even though her appearance alone makes her the best choice, as Junko was killed within the first six hours of 'the Program'. That leave the first and second girls I mentioned. The youth of the first girl and the look of absolute disbelief and fear on her face make her very applicable. She seems fairly innocent to me, maybe it bit too innocent to be the rebellious, America-loving daughter of Reiko Omatsu. And I'm pretty sure that all of the students had that same look on their faces, anyway. So, I guess I would have to say the second girl; the one who tries – and fails – to kill Kawada. By her face alone, she's already gone insane (from a possible rape, maybe?) at that point and she is killed by Kawada. That means she meets two criteria for the description I laid out for Junko _post mortem_. The only problem is that her clothes were listed as ripped and torn, and the girl's in the manga were still in fairly good shape. But you don't have to strip down a girl to rape her, especially if she's wearing a skirt. So it's a problem that I can easily alter.

But don't forget, Kelley. My _**Battle Royale**_ fanfic takes aspects of the manga and merges them with the movie (such as the collar's name and a few other things that I can't think of right now) which is the primary setting for _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_. As such, the site for Kawada's 'Program' wasn't the urban area from the manga but another island as was portrayed in the movie. Hence the 'mud' being caked along with blood in Junko's hair.

I hope that helped to answer your question Kelley! If you have anymore, just post them and I'll do my best to answer them!

Ciao!


	17. The Best Laid Plan

**1****st**** AMERICAN BLITZ**

**CHAPTER 11**

* * *

**Girls, No. 12**

**Wendy Prince**

**"The Best Laid Plan"**

* * *

_God, what am I doing here?_

It was a thought that echoed through Wendy's head as she sat huddled in the darkness of a small storage closet in a building module located near to where her military chest lay. In the gloom of that hot, musty place; she cried. And cried and cried.

Normally self-assured and confident, Wendy Prince was now broken and beaten. That poise, which benefited her so much in the past, seemed far removed now; stripped away a layer at a time by the hysteric paranoia and visible brutality she'd had been forced into during her short time free of the briefing room. She was no longer that smiling, charismatic girl who'd managed to seize an all-but-impossible victory away from a very popular freshman class president candidate. Nor was she the same girl who strived to lead by example; a girl who once saw herself as a future leader of her great country.

The emotional damage done by what she'd dealt with earlier saw to that.

Make no mistake. She _had_ been that girl in the beginning; right after her name was called, in fact. _That_ Wendy Prince may have been shaken by the events happening around her, but her strong will to succeed would drive her to find a way out. Afterall, she couldn't be the _only_ student brought to the offshore platform who wouldn't bend to the insanity they were being told to participate in. Kill to be the last one standing? Murder everyone else to go home? The concept alone was so far removed the realm of believability that she felt like she was trapped in some sort of bad, B-grade horror movie.

But being the kind of person she was, Wendy knew that she was going to step up regardless of the consequences and take a stand against the craziness before it could escalate. In her mind, only she possessed the determination to do so. Who else among the other twenty-eight students in that room would be willing to risk their own lives to save those of complete strangers? Who else even radiated that kind of confidence and commitment?

In her opinion? None of them.

That was why it fell to her to make that tough choice; to be the one to reason a way out their deadly situation. All she had to do was remain confident and think her way through things carefully. If she didn't, they were all as good as dead. And that was something she couldn't bring herself to accept.

Escape had to be her plan, not death.

Besides, she would never give in to the demands of people who were nothing more than terrorist in her eyes. How would it look to those she wanted to help if she just went along with their Japanese captors without fighting back? If she just followed the status quo to its inevitable and horrifying conclusion? It would make her look like a traitor. It would make her look like those bastards in her own government who had conspired with the Japanese to put this death game together in the first place. _That_ was something she could never forgive herself for doing so. In her mind, a leader who did never deserved the title to begin with. It was the main reason why she admired President Johnson McNeil; a man who would never accede to the terroristic threats leveled at him or his nation.

And just like the man she respected, Wendy saw herself as that kind of leader.

Or at least, she had.

Her shoulders shuddered under the weight of her sobs. Each and every tear that rolled down her cheeks burned away what little remained of the confident girl from before. Every time she heard the anguished wail that escaped from her lips, it felt like a punch in the gut. How could someone like her have fallen so far, so fast? How could she have let herself be beaten before her plan of escape even had a chance to begin? Especially when that plan was given such a solid foundation to build on by Omatsu Reiko herself? How in the world had she let come to this? Hiding in a hot, sticky closet and crying for what seemed to have been hours?

_Why? Why? Why? WHY?_

The leader in her was _so_ confident that all of the students kidnapped into this madness would be reasonable; would not give in to the temptation of doing violence against one another. She'd been so sure that they would wait for a voice of reason to emerge to lead them to safety. That they would wait for someone to rise up and attempt to save them. But she was wrong; oh so very wrong.

The memory of that first tell-tale sign, a ghastly smear of blood along a wall in the Quarters Module and a trail of blood-drops leading away from it, forced tears from her eyes that she didn't even know she had left. She just couldn't stop herself from crying. She felt nothing but torment over her own weakness, over her arrogance and over her gross miscalculation of how the other students would react to their unbelievable situation; of how they would react to her.

Yes, what she'd seen at the time had left her shaken to the core. But Wendy the Leader had to be better than that; _stronger_ than that. Just like President McNeil. If she couldn't find that strength, no one would make it off the rig alive. And so, she made it happen; pushing herself to be that same confident person who'd left the briefing room of her own volition instead of being shoved or thrown out like so many others before her. Doing so despite the harsh uneasiness left in her by the sight of the drying blood staining the wall.

Strength of will was the most important quality for a leader to have. It was essential for her burgeoning plan of escape. A plan that had to succeed. A plan she would _make_ succeed.

That was how she saw the world at the time, witnessing everything through the eyes of a leader determined to remain strong and certain for the sake of those she didn't even know. Making herself face an absolutely deplorable situation by becoming the one person that everyone on the platform could look up to and trust. Using her optimism that everyone she confronted with her plan of escape would see the logic of it and fall in behind her to counterbalance the pessimistic catastrophe that failure would bring. But, as she had learned to her horror, what people actually were and what she wanted them to be were two very different things. And as that realization was forced upon her, the first cracks in her strength and will began to form.

It happened twenty or so minutes after she'd left the briefing room. She had managed to put a good deal of distance between her and the Quarters Module; knowing that it was no longer safe to even consider remaining in once she came across the blood smeared along the wall. Because of that, the decision to search for her weapon suddenly became a necessary evil.

'Plausible justification' as her father had once called it, trying to explain President McNeil's call for war against Iran.

It was a term that explained her motivations perfectly. She had to keep herself unharmed and alive. Afterall, it was crucial to her plan that she survived. Who would she be able to help if she were dead? Who would she be able to help if she couldn't find and convince the one student that the entire thing hinged upon? Plus, there was food in those chests as well and Wendy knew that it would become one of the most important commodities as her time on the platform dragged on. That and finding a safe haven to set up in until the time came to execute whatever plan she had come up with.

Content with keeping to the shadows for the most part, she quickly came to the conclusion that exposing herself to just anyone who happened to cross her path might not be too healthy for her in the long run. The bloodstain she'd come across – which had led to her hasty decision to flee the Quarters Module – helped greatly in that regard. It proved that blind trust could lead to a disastrous outcome. While she was sure that not everyone would be willing to give in to the insane notion of killing each other in order to be the one to go home, there were a good few in the briefing room that made her more uneasy than weary. One of those few being from her very own school.

Yes, spying from a distance would be her best bet.

It had all seemed so simple at the time. Stick to the shadows. Approach only those who were alone. Tell them of her plan to escape from the oil rig. Convince them to join her. Go find others to help. Hopefully running across that vital student she needed while doing so.

Her way with words should have been able to convince all but the most stubborn of people. Her reason alone should have made everyone she approached flock to her cause without question. Who _wouldn't_ jump at the chance of possibly escaping from this deathtrap alive? Who in their right minds would want to remain here and _kill_ for a chance to be the last one left? It just didn't make any sense to her. And that was why it should have worked.

But it didn't.

Wendy raised her head from her skirt-covered knees and took a deep, shuddering breath. Her long, wavy auburn hair hung down messily past her shoulders; obscuring a good portion of her tear-slick face. Her blue eyes were lost to the surrounding darkness, glistening with more tears yet to fall from the weak light creeping through the narrow crack under the door. Her dirty, scraped fingers were locked and kept her arms in a tight death-grip around her legs; the scarred skin on the back of her hands burning with minor pain. Her mind tried to conjure up a reason why no one trusted her but couldn't find any.

Leaning her head back against the wall with a shaky sigh, she stared up at the drab storeroom ceiling as tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. She just couldn't understand. What was wrong with them all? Why didn't they believe she was sincere? Were they all so paranoid and scared that they just couldn't see reason anymore? Was _that_ it?

Maybe that's what the case was with the first student she encountered; a dark-haired girl in a dirty, powder-blue tank dress and barefoot of all things. She recognized her as the same one who had freaked out when her name was called; offering money frantically to Omatsu and her men if they would let her go. The bribery hadn't worked, of course. All it had really led to was the girl being dragged to the front of the room, given her gear, collared and thrown out into the hallway.

Wendy had come across her almost by accident while checking her GPS to see how much further she needed to go to get to her chest. She'd been huddled in a small, shadowy alcove doing the one thing in this crazy situation that made any real amount of sense…crying. From what she could tell, the girl had seemed uninjured; her skin covered more with grime and oil than anything else. There was a large scrape on her knee but it didn't look serious.

Wendy had tried to approach the girl as quietly as possible, hoping not to startle her. It was a vain hope. Almost as soon as she took her first few steps toward the girl, her dark-haired head shot up from its place against her knees. Their eyes met only briefly; horrified, deer-in-the-headlights stare meeting surprised gaze. Before Wendy even knew what was happening, the girl was up on her feet and bolting out of the alcove.

Calling out for her to wait, she ran after the girl and made a hasty, desperate grab for the fleeing teen's arm. She managed to catch hold of her wrist but the girl squirmed like a maniac to free herself. Her fear was giving her strength, almost more than Wendy could handle. It didn't help that her arm was slick from grease and oil. Dropping her GPS to the deck, she was forced to wrap her other hand around the girl's wrist; doing what she could to sooth her with calming words while trying to keep her in place. But that just seemed to unhinge the girl even more.

Within seconds of grabbing her, Wendy felt the first stab of the girl's nails raking against her skin. The near-instant turn to violence shook her cold, but she maintained her grip. The girl continued to struggle against her grip, screeching for Wendy to let her go as she slapped and scratched. The longer she held on to her wrist, the more blood the dark-haired girl began to draw. Between the painful stinging sensation on the backs of her hands and the girl's high-pitched wails; she really had no other choice but to let her go and leave the area before someone else close enough to hear decided to show up to investigate. And she couldn't take the chance of meeting another student head-on that might have been as unstable as the girl fighting her was. Or worse, someone who was that unstable and had already found their weapon.

With strong feeling of remorse and defeat, Wendy released her grip. The dark-haired girl stumbled in shock, tripped over her feet and fell to the deck. Fear overriding sense, she backpedaled away from Wendy with a scream before turning herself over into a crawl and pushing back up to her feet. Once fully upright, she scampered quickly down the darkening alley of machine walls and pipe-mazes. In no time, the girl was swallowed up by the stretching shadows of the rig's superstructure and disappeared from view.

Not hesitating to stare after her to determine the direction she'd gone in, Wendy was quick to kneel down and retrieve her fallen GPS. Moving as fast as she dared in her pair of flip-flops, she moved back into the shadows of the superstructure as well and ducked into another tight alley between two small modular buildings. In the weak light offered, she checked the damage done to her hands by the hysterical girl's nails and slaps. It wasn't so bad that it needed to be bandaged or tended to immediately but it was very noticeable. Even in what little light there was she could tell that the back of her hands were a bright red; crisscrossed with long lines of welted, bleeding skin. But it wasn't the state of her hands that was bothering her. It was the girl's reaction. Just the fact that she had done it in the first place; the fact she had done it even though all she was trying to do was help her…

That was when the first tears appeared.

What had happened between her and the girl in the blue dress nearly crippled Wendy's resolve to go on. She remembered spending a fair amount of time leaning against a wall in that narrow alley trying to compose herself while fighting back tears which refused to stop. Wendy couldn't remember the last time her strength was so frail and breakable. Even with the insanity happening around her, her will shouldn't have been _that_ easy to break. What kind of leader did that make her? Who would she be able to save in that state of mind? How could she even justify going on?

Reaching up with a shaky hand, Wendy wiped away the fresh tears on her cheeks. Pulling her head from the wall, she took her eyes off the ceiling and lowered them down to the grimy bare toes which were peeking out from under the hem of her ankle-length skirt. She wiggled them around in her flip-flops absently.

_Guess I can't really say anything about her being barefoot, _she thought, trying to focus on anything else but her dilemma._ She probably just lost her shoes while she was running away. Shouldn't be surprising, considering how panicked she was. I nearly lost mine when I was trying to get into that alley. And I almost lost them again when… Not like any of that really matters. None of us were expecting this. _Wendy struggled to find a comforting thought but couldn't. _My God, are we all going to end up like her… or that other one?_

Wendy raised her eyes back to the door. She heaved a large, shuddering sigh as her mind traveled back into its recent past. She already knew the answer to that question.

She'd only been about fifteen or so minutes out of the alley after her disastrous meeting with the dark-haired girl, back on the trail to find her military chest. The encounter had left her emotionally spent and physically on edge with an uncomfortable weariness hovering over her. She tried to reassert that confidence from before, tried to reach down deep to grab hold of the strength of will she was so proud of. But it slipped through her fingers like air. Even remembering the strength and resolve of President McNeil didn't help. It seemed that there was going to be no recovering from what had happened; at least not as quickly as she hoped.

Wendy had begun to reason that it wasn't going to be safe to approach _anyone_ despite the fact that she still believed that not everyone was willing to participate in the insane death game. Well, it wouldn't be safe to approach them directly. Not if it threatened to end like her first attempt did. But that just left another question dogging her mind.

Was there any other way to do it?

Still nervous, she had taken to moving through alleys and narrow walkways instead of just sticking to the shadows. It was just too risky to travel out in the open even if the dimming sky was providing plenty of darkness to hide in. Besides, she was pretty sure that the oil platform's exterior lights would be coming on soon. The Japanese bastards had left the power running for a reason, afterall. And those would brighten things up considerably along with making it easier for the students find each other.

Just realizing what that meant, what she assumed their captors knew would happen when the lights came on made her sick. They were doing whatever they could to assure that the students would find and kill each other. She tried to force the disturbing thought from her head so she could focus on a line of more practical thinking.

How _was_ she going to approach any other student if they all reacted the same way as that dark-haired girl? Wendy hoped that _she_ hadn't been the one she was looking for. Her plan to escape required at least one more person; the one mentioned in passing by Omatsu Reiko as having knowledge of how the platform worked. That student was _essential_ to her. They would give her a solid idea of how to go about enacting her plan. All she had to do was find and convince them to give her a chance. And if _that_ girl had been the one, her plan was already as good as sunk. Of course, there was always the chance that she wasn't and that brought her right back to the question of how to go about approaching the other students.

It was made harder still by fact that she had no idea who the person was or what they looked like. Whether or not it had been the dark-haired girl was a moot point when she didn't even know _who_ she was searching for in the first place. All she knew for certain was that it wasn't anyone from her school. That meant she had absolutely no idea of what to expect from the person her plan depended upon the most. Whoever she was hunting for could be as panic-stricken as the dark-haired girl or as dangerous as an escaped convict. Trying to find that person could very well be the thing that killed her in the end.

But to save lives, it was a necessary risk.

And then it happened. The moment it all changed for her. The moment all the confidence she had left in the optimistic belief that no one would give into the sick game they were being forced into fled from her mind. It was a harsh memory; one which immediately brought the tears back to her eyes.

_**-O-**_

_The blond-haired girl stood rigidly in front of her, wicked-looking head of the arrow nocked in her black bow of pulleys and wires aimed right at her chest._

_Wendy had happened upon her completely by chance as she exited from an alley. Too busy checking her GPS for directions along with trying to keep her eyes clear of tears; she hadn't even noticed the girl until it was too late and she bumped into her. Before she had a chance to react, the girl had grabbed hold of her and shoved her to the deck. By the time she'd recovered enough to stand back up, the blond-haired girl already had the arrow drawn back and leveled at her. Just by the look of the girl, by her very stance; she knew that if she said the wrong thing, made the wrong move, she would be dead in the blink of an eye._

"_Wa…Wait," she called out in an urgent voice. Wendy held up an open hand in a slow, non-threatening manner; palm outward and fingers outstretched to show that was empty. The last thing she wanted to do was appear menacing to a girl who seemed ready to kill. "Please…just wait! All I want…all I want to do is talk! Th-that's all! I promise!"_

_The hard expression on the girl's face didn't change. Neither did the position of the arrow._

"_Say it quick," the blond slowly returned in a heavy southern accent. "I got someplace I need to be and I ain't got time to be dickin' 'round with you. So go on and say what you gotta say."_

_It took her a moment but Wendy recognized the girl. She was the one in the briefing room who had almost earned a bullet in her body after she'd managed to upset Omatsu Reiko. Like the other girl she'd run into, this one was also covered in grime and oil and more than a few scrapes. But unlike the dark-haired girl, the one standing in front of her wasn't going to be easily frightened._

_She swallowed hard, wide eyes refusing to leave the arrow pointed at her heart._

"_O…okay. B-but first…do you…do you think that you –"_

"_No," the girl replied in a hard voice as her hand drew back the arrow a hair more. "There's only one girl on this rig I'm gonna trust and you ain't her. The arrow stays nocked. Now talk or I'm walkin'."_

_Wendy took a deep breath as she closed her eyes slowly, reopened them and forced herself to remain calm. She had just made her first mistake with the girl. She wasn't presenting herself in an assured manner. She was instead showing herself to be a nervous, fidgety wreck of a girl who'd just given in to the paranoid atmosphere coming to dominate the drilling platform. More than ever before, she had to demonstrate the confidence of a leader. She had to convince the girl she wasn't a threat to her. If not, another student she could potentially save would slip through her fingers. She couldn't let that happen…not again._

"_Al…alright," Wendy began in a slow, unsteady tone; raising her eyes reluctantly from the arrow to meet the strong gaze of the girl in front of her, "as long…as long as you listen to what I have to say, keep it pointed there." She paused to take another breath. _Steady and sure. First, I have to convince her that I'm no threat to her. Ignore the arrow and focus on the words. Focus on getting through to her. _"I'll just come out and say it. I…I'm not going to be a part of this. I won't participate in this…this bloodsport."_

_The blond-haired girl's blue eyes narrowed. "Then you're gonna die."_

"_You…say that like…like you know for certain."_

"_Just statin' a fact, that's all. People like you ain't gonna last long out here."_

"_People…like me?"_

"_Yeah," the blond answered in a level tone. "You wanna talk. Talkin' ain't gonna do no good on this rig. Not now, not ever. You're lucky you ran into me 'stead of someone else. Been anybody else, pretty sure you'd be dead right 'bout now. Or at the very least, bleedin'."_

_Wendy tried not to gasp but failed. "So…so you're not going to shoot me?"_

_The southern-born girl didn't lower her bow and arrow an inch._

"_I didn't say that. Still got no reason to trust you. Plan on givin' me one?"_

"_I…I thought I did by showing that all I have is my GPS," she responded, slowly raising the hand holding the small device a little higher and giving it a slight shake. "I'm unarmed. Isn't that enough?"_

_The blond-haired girl sniffed. "Not by a long shot."_

_The girl's hands tightening on the bow and arrow again almost made Wendy take a step back. _Calm and confident. Don't show any fear. Don't make any sudden moves. You have her attention. Just keep talking. Be the assured leader. Show her she can trust you. Make her understand.

"_My name…" she paused for a second to consider what she was about to do and then continued. "…is Wendy Prince and I'm…I'm risking my life to talk to you. I could've run away. I could've attacked you. But I didn't. Like I said before, all I want to do is talk. And if talking to you – or anyone else – is going to get me killed, then so be it. I'll take that chance as many times as it takes. But you _will_ listen to what I have to say!"_

_Wendy could hear her heart pounding in her chest. She hoped she hadn't pushed too hard with those last words. She'd been paraphrasing a speech given by President McNeil while addressing a crowd of angry anti-war protesters who'd marched on Washington DC. What she was doing was more than risky. With the look on the girl's face, she could end up dead before she knew it. In a matter of seconds, she could be flat on her back bleeding from an arrow in the chest. But she didn't have a choice._

_Sometimes, you had to force a stubborn person's hand to open their mind; you had to be willing to sacrifice something important to make them understand your point. It was something that her father had taught to her. And on this offshore platform where violence and death soon seemed likely to be lurking in every shadow, there was nothing more important than your life._

_Wendy stared into the girl's face. The expression behind that bow and arrow was still hard, almost unforgiving. Those blue eyes were still stony and distrustful. But amidst all of that, she saw a nervous compressing of her lips; a slight twitch at the corners of the blond-haired girl's mouth showing her struggling with how to accept what Wendy had just said._

"_Alright," the girl spoke out after a few seconds, "you got me curious. Talk to me."_

Here's your chance. Be the leader. Show her you can be trusted. Ignore everything else but getting through to her. Make her trust you. Make her understand.

"_I need your help," Wendy stated with smooth words._

"_Why?" the girl questioned in a voice full of suspicion._

It's now or never. Time to play my hand.

"_Because I plan on finding away to escape. I told you already, I'm not going to go along with their insane demands that we kill each other. I have something different in mind. And for that, I'll need your help."_

_The blond-haired girl's eyes widened for a second and then narrowed. "Yeah," she began as her grip on the arrow lessened an inch or two, "I shoulda figured that. I think I'll call bullshit on that one. The woman said there ain't no way outta this. So, you're either full of it or fuckin' nuts. Or both. Whichever it is, I ain't got time for neither. I got a friend to get back to."_

_Wendy watched with stunned eyes as the girl released the tension on the arrow with a slow, steady hand and lowered the heavy-looking bow. Pulling the arrow from the weapon, she smoothly placed it back in the quiver hanging at her side. Afterwards, the girl gave her one last look and then turned to walk off._

"_So…so that's it," Wendy yelled out, uncaring of how her voice carried as she took a step forward. Stress was making her emotions run high. The fresh memories of her earlier failure with that dark-haired girl were only adding to it. "You're not even going to give it another thought? You…you're just going to turn and leave? I haven't even had a chance to explain anything yet! Why…why won't you stay and _listen_ to me?"_

_The girl whirled around angrily to face her, blue eyes glittering in the dim light like polished sapphire._

"'_Cause you ain't talkin' any sense! A plan to escape? Christ! Didn't you even _hear_ what that woman said? These fuckin' collars, gunboats out in the water just waitin' for the chance to blow us to Hell and back and, even if we somehow manage to get 'round that, these stupid things on our necks will go off once we get too far away! And here you are gullible 'nough to go on thinkin' that we got a chance to escape! You'll 'scuse me if I don't go and share your optimism!"_

_The world felt like it was collapsing around her. It was happening again. She was going to lose someone else to this insanity! Why wouldn't they listen to her? Why couldn't they see reason? Why were they so willing to believe that there was no other way out but to kill each other? Why couldn't they just see that she was offering them the only salvation they had? What was _wrong_ with them all?_

_Wendy couldn't stop the tears from coming again. She couldn't keep the regret created by that first encounter out of her voice. "And…and that's your _reason_?" she screamed, all the pain from her earlier failure pouring out. "That's the reason you don't want to even _try_? Because of what Omatsu said? Be…because you're _scared_?"_

_The expression on the blond-haired girl's face became more than dangerous._

"_Shut the fuck up! You weren't the one she had lined up to shoot! You weren't the one who had to have your FRIEND save your ass 'cause you'd gone and done somethin' stupid! I saw the look in her eyes! The bitch meant everythin' she said! Everythin'! And I ain't gonna risk me and Rahdi's life on your nutty, delusional gamble!"_

_Wendy's emotions finally got the better of her._

"_My…my delusional…gamble," she stammered incredulously. "You…_you're_ the one who's delusional if you're too much of a coward to find another way to –"_

_Before Wendy even knew what was happening, the blond-haired girl was tackling her to the deck after dropping her bow and covering the distance between them with a brief sprint. She gave a surprised scream as they both fell to the hard metal beneath them. Afterward, the blond-haired girl was quick to straddle her and pull an arrow from the quiver. Wendy froze immediately when the cold point of the arrowhead pressed itself against her neck just above the PISCES collar._

"_I ain't no coward," the girl growled. "I just ain't gonna let your crazy ass scheme get me and my friend killed! Don't you understand? That's all this plan of yours is gonna do; _get people killed_! You _that_ ready to have blood on your hands?"_

_Wendy's mind reeled at the words. Was…was that why no one trusted her? Was that why they were all afraid? Was that why the two people she'd approached had reacted the way they had? Would a plan of escape just get them all killed? Was…was she…wrong?_

_Without warning, all the emotions from earlier rushed in to crush her will. The fear from when she had first awoken in that dark, humid briefing room. The dread and uncertainty she felt as she asked Omatsu Reiko her question. The unrelenting terror, which poured over her mind, when she heard that gun go off. The disgust and nausea that boiled in her stomach at seeing another student shot right before her eyes. The unexpected, chilling horror after Omatsu had explained why they were brought to the platform. The buried panic that dogged her every step after she'd left the room and come across the bloodstain on the wall. The regret caused by her failure to convince that poor, fear-stricken girl to join her. And finally, her most recent failure and its complete disintegration into violence._

_All of them, all of those abandoned emotions returned; collapsing and falling on top of that fragile strength that had once been the source of her will to continue. That willpower, which was meant to give her the resolve to lead, buried beneath pessimistic feelings brought on by hard words she refused to believe but feared might be true. Under that crushing tide of emotional sewage, only one thing managed to break through. Not strength but anger….anger at what the girl had said. And it was in anger that she lashed out._

_Wendy's hand tightened around the GPS._

"_NO!" she screamed, pulling her arm from the deck and slamming the hard plastic device into the forehead of the girl straddling her. The vibration from the impact of the GPS against the girl's head caused Wendy's fingers to go numb for a second. It slipped from her grip as the blond fell to the side and hit the deck with a grunt; left cheek scraping against it nastily as she did. The arrow she'd been holding at Wendy's throat slid from her fingers and tumbled in the opposite direction._

"_No," she yelled again, pushing up frantically from the deck. Her tear-filled blue eyes were wild and confused. Her thoughts were a near jumble except for her the anger fueling her words. "I…I won't fail! I WON'T! I'll make it work! I'm not going to give up! I'LL MAKE IT WORK!"_

_Retaining enough sense to reach back down to retrieve her GPS, Wendy took one last look at the slowly stirring girl with tearful eyes and then turned to run off in the opposite direction._

_**-O-**_

That was when her confidence had left her. That was the moment when her will had ceased to be. That was the instant her strength had turned into something else. Anger. And through that anger, she'd done what she promised not to.

Participated in 'the Blitz' by attacking someone she had wanted to help.

Burying her face against skirt-covered legs, Wendy wept silently into the thin fabric. A leader was never supposed to compromise! A leader was never supposed to give in! But that's exactly what had happened with the blond-haired girl. It had happened even before that when she had decided to search out her weapon. 'Plausible justification' was no excuse. She had given in and done exactly what the Japanese terrorists holding her leash had wanted her to do even though she didn't want to. Lashing out in anger was no excuse either.

What kind of leader did that make her? What did those two students she'd encountered think of her now?

_That wasn't supposed to happen,_ she sobbed in her mind. _It wasn't supposed to turn out like that! Why didn't she listen? Why didn't she even try to understand? I only wanted to help her. WHY DIDN'T SHE UNDERSTAND!_

Clasping her hands even tighter, Wendy didn't try to stop the heavy amount of tears that her thoughts were bringing. The scarred skin on the backs of her hands pulled and burned, but all she could do was focus on her failure. Lives were going to be lost because of her inabilities as a leader. Students were going to die because she was inadequately equipped for the situation they were in. The stress of it was too much for her to bear. It was crushing her confidence and willpower. It was smothering her charisma. How could she succeed when her greatest strengths were crippled because of fear and paranoia?

A sudden _pinging_ sound cut through the silence of the warm storage closet. Wendy's head popped up immediately from its place against her legs. Teary blue eyes turned toward the small device she had found in her military chest lying on the floor beside her.

It had been in an olive-drab case labeled 'Special Bonus Item' set to the left-hand side of her actual weapon; a heavy-duty bandolier full of eight, featureless gray canister-like objects tapered at the bottom with elongated handgrips that extended from the top and down the side. There was a small metal ring connected to a pin lodged in a tight spot where the handgrip attached to the top of the canister. Though they were odd-looking, even she could recognize that the objects were some type of grenade. Just their appearance in the military chest sent a cold shiver running through her body.

Unlike her 'special bonus item', the grenades and the thick bandolier designed to carry them, lay on the other side of the storage closet. As far from her as possible. She didn't want those things anywhere _near_ her – now more than ever. Wendy would rather die than use anything like that against the other students.

The thought alone made her nauseous.

On the other hand, the so-called 'bonus item' had turned out to be a rather unexpected gift, though she didn't see it that way at first. According to the instruction guide that she'd found in the case, it was a handheld RFID Locator. An immediate chill had cut through her when she discovered that. It didn't take a genius to figure out how invaluable the device could be to a student in 'the Blitz', especially one who had decided to play to win. Something that could track the other students by the RFID chips implanted in their hands? Chips that they couldn't remove on penalty of death? Invaluable was an understatement.

Yet even through the uncertainty and sadness that had gripped her in the wake of failures, Wendy could see another use for the Locator. She could use it to find the other students instead of just happening upon them by chance. She could tell whether or not they were alone and whether or not they were male or female. The device _was_ invaluable, but not in the way that those Japanese bastards had planned it to be. She would see to that, once she managed to regain every shred of confidence and strength she'd lost during those first two encounters.

And that was not going to be easy.

Wendy's blue eyes seemed even bluer in the bright glow coming from the Locator's small screen. She watched in a near daze of remorse and hopeless sorrow as a red dot labeled 'Girls, No. 06' _pinged_ closer to the white arrow which indicated her stationary position in the storage closet. Whoever 'Girls, No. 06' was, she was getting closer and closer to Wendy. Her mind was alight with a nervous excitement even while her heart seized up with fear. Her strength of will had long since disappeared; leaving her lost, scared and alone to face her failings and inadequacies as a leader.

Could she? _Should_ she?

Slowly releasing the deathgrip she had around her legs, Wendy raised one of her scarred hands to her face and wiped away the fresh tears on her cheeks. The _pinging_ continued and each time her heart beat faster and faster.

What was she going to do? Could she risk another encounter? Could she risk another _failure_? What if this girl was worse than either of the two who came before? What if she lost control again? What if things fell into violence…or worse? No! She wouldn't play this stupid game! She would not give in and do what those Japanese terrorists wanted! She would rather die first! But what if it was the student she was looking for, that one individual on the platform who could be the foundation for her plan of escape. The one who could be the reason it would succeed?

Could she really risk _not_ confronting the person?

With hesitant a hand, Wendy reached down toward the RFID Locator. She tried to summon up her composure, tried to dig deep enough to find any buried remnant of that strength and willpower shown at the beginning of her harrowing journey. But the fear and paranoia remained in place; anchored there by her unwillingness to move past the grief caused by her failures.

No matter how she tried, the tears in her eyes wouldn't stop falling. She just couldn't erase the images of those two girls from her mind, no matter how hard she struggled to do so. The memories just wouldn't go away. She had failed them as a leader. She had failed herself.

Wendy couldn't handle another failure. She didn't have the strength or willpower left to do so. If she approached this girl and couldn't convince her to join in with her plan of escape, she would…she would…

She pulled her hand away from the Locator like it was a snake coiled and ready to strike, her eyes growing wide. In a quick, sudden movement, she shifted her left leg and pushed the small device away with her foot. It slid along the metal floor a short distance before stopping, _pinging_ noise growing louder and louder in her ears.

Huddling back up against the wall, Wendy Prince – the failed leader that she had become – clasped her hands over her ears and buried her face against her legs. She couldn't handle another failure! She couldn't deal with it again! Not without strength. Not without confidence. She wasn't anything like President McNeil and _never_ would be.

She realized that now.

And that was the last thing to pass through her mind as the faint sound of footfalls grew closer and closer; the _pinging_ from the abandoned Locator becoming ever louder in her covered ears.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

Trevor Gates is a man on a mission. His desire to survive at any cost has driven him to use any means available to assure that. Arrogant beyond reason and possessing an objectified view of women, Trevor is determined to find one weak-willed and gullible enough to act as his 'human shield'. It is his ultimate plan to last until the end and win 'the Blitz', using the girls trapped with him to his advantage.

Yet, underneath the veneer of that rather thin scheme, there lies _another_ reason for him choosing them exclusively; one born from a perverse hunger and an even more twisted realization. Dominated by a lustful desire and spurred forward by a tremendous find, Trevor begins to see all the girls on the platform as nothing more than his personal playthings to use and discard as he sees fit.

But with the strong desire to live and win beginning to instill itself firmly in the hearts of all the students trapped on the offshore platform, will the girl he chooses to 'hunt' end up being more than he can handle?

**Coming soon, "Who Mourns the Adonis?",**

**Chapter 12 of **_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

I find Wendy Prince to be a mixed bag of varying leader stereotypes in the _**BR**_ Universe. In absolute truth, I am very worried at how she will be received. I feel this especially after reading _Wax Factory's_ impressively written _**The United States Raising Hands Program**_. His character, **Peter Juntz**, bares an unsettling resemblance to what I had in mind for Wendy in some ways and, because his story has been up for a while now on , I'm afraid of the inevitable comparisons (along with possible beliefs of a copy and paste job). Perhaps I have nothing to worry about as I believe that Wendy has enough differences in personality to differentiate her from **Peter Juntz**, especially with her feelings as a failed leader now in place. But I leave that decision up to my readers.

So, what to say about Wendy Prince. She was another of those characters that I liked after I wrote her up in the 'Awake & Arrival' chapter. There was just something about her to me that spoke of an interesting presence. The way I described her and the way she spoke made her an early favorite of mine. Pretty much from the beginning, I knew I wanted her to be my leader character. Yet I didn't want her to just walk right in and start gathering up people to her cause. I wanted there to be more to her than just 'the girl in charge' stereotype lifted straight from the _**Battle Royale**_ novel/movie on par with the either the **Yukie Utsumi**, **Shinji Mimura** or **Shogo Kawada** characters. I wanted to break her down first; I wanted to tear her apart emotionally by systematically destroying the strength of will and confidence she was so proud of. I wanted her stripped down and raw, hurt by a truth that wasn't quite so obvious to her in the beginning of her quest to gather and save the other students; a truth that she wasn't ready to accept.

Which is the fact that fear and paranoia will _always_ destroy trust. It is something that has been – and always will be – a key element to any _**Battle Royale**_ story. The 'Lighthouse Girls' scene being the most defining and iconic moment of that truth.

It was something that I wanted Wendy to experience early on firsthand. It was something that I felt every leader has to have happen to them because I feel it will define just what kind of leader they will be afterwards. Will they fly or will they fall? I truly wanted her broken by the time I ended this chapter so could answer this question later in the story. And I think I accomplished that.

It is my sincerest belief that Alisia's outright fear and Charlie Rae's obvious paranoia only helped to develop and add to her character in this brief chapter. The most interesting thing that will come from Wendy's breakdown will be watching how she moves forward in the aftermath of it; how it shapes her personality as her time on the oil rig drags on. Can she rebuild herself? Will she manage to regain that confidence as a leader and enact her plan of escape? Will she continue to fray mentally under the pressure and stress of the distrust surrounding her? Or will she die before the plan she so fervently believes in even begins?

I leave that for you guys and gals to figure out.

Read and enjoy everyone!

Ciao!

Terryll


	18. Who Mourns the Adonis?

**1****st**** AMERICAN BLITZ**

* * *

**CHAPTER 12**

**Boys, No. 06**

**Trevor Gates**

**"Who Mourns the Adonis?"**

* * *

_**WARNING!**_** THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF SEX. IT WILL NOT BE WATERED DOWN. THIS IS THE ONLY NOTICE YOU WILL GET. IF YOU DON'T THINK YOU CAN HANDLE IT WITH MATURITY, PLEASE DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!**

* * *

_Trevor ran the comb through his blond hair again, grinning at the handsome reflection mimicking his movements. Sweeping his neatly trimmed bangs to the side, he pulled it back past his left ear and down toward the nape of his neck. Lowering the comb, he maneuvered his head from side to side with slow and deliberate movements; admiring the image presented before him in the mirror._

_His smooth, perfect skin seemed to glow in the iridescent light coming from the fixtures overhead. His hair was flawless in both fullness and body. His smile was dashing and attractive. He was dressed impeccably and his ever-unique, amber eyes shined with that spark which drew the girls in and left them begging at his feet just for a few more moments of his time._

_Yes, Trevor _was_ an Adonis; or as close to one as any human could be. It was the reason why almost every worthwhile girl at his highschool fell head over heels for him. It was the source of his popularity with his peers and most of the teachers. It was the reason why everything in his life was at the peak of perfection._

_And it was also the reason why he was in the situation he was in now._

_In the mirror's reflection, Trevor could see the door to the restroom opening. Through it walked a tall man with a narrow face, slicked back hair, beady eyes and glasses. His all too serious expression irked Trevor almost as much as his appearance. Anyone who thought that lawyers were sleazy opportunists paid large sums of money to get rich people off the hook would be hard-pressed not to believe it after seeing Alden Murphy in the courtroom._

"_The hearing is about to begin, Trevor," Alden intoned in a flat voice. "I would suggest that you finish your primping quickly. The last thing you want is to be late, especially considering the circumstances."_

_Trevor just regarded his lawyer with a cool expression. "I don't think the circumstances really matter. It's all just a misunderstanding. This shit won't make it past today. Trust me."_

_Alden quirked an eyebrow._

"_The accusations levied say otherwise, Trevor. This is serious. Just because you had me dig up that dirt on Ms. Barnes is beside the point. You could still face –"_

"_Seriously," Trevor interrupted, sliding the comb into his pocket as he turned to face his lawyer, "you need to show a little faith, Alden. We'll be in and out." Walking over to the frowning man with a large smile on his face, Trevor clapped him casually on the shoulder and said, "Smile. You're about to make a whole lot of money for hardly any work."_

_**-O-**_

Trevor Gates looked down at the heavy weapon in his hands again. He couldn't believe his luck! Out of all the possible things he could've found in his chest, what he held had to be the best in the craziness he was being forced to participate in. With it, there was no way _anyone_ would fuck with him! Even if he didn't have any real experience with it, he knew what the weapon was. And…what it could do.

An Auto Assault-12. Also called an AA-12. It was a fully automatic shotgun that fired shells from a large, drum-shaped cartridge that resembled the one you would find on one of those old Thompsons Machine Guns. And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it could – and would, if he decided to get serious – literally rip through the competition.

What he knew about the weapon he had learned, pretty much by accident, on one of the rare nights he'd been at home. It'd been a slow dating week because of some shit a girl had accused him of. It wasn't anything too serious in his mind, but both his parents and lawyer had _more_ than suggested that he stay at home until it could all be sorted out. He hadn't been too happy about that, especially over something that wasn't anything more than a misunderstanding. _She_ was the one who had been begging for it almost from the moment they'd met up. He'd given it to her, of course, and then afterwards she had second thoughts and decided that she hadn't really wanted to do it afterall.

Such a stupid bitch.

And because of that, because she couldn't handle what she _begged_ for in the first place; he was being accused of something that was pure bullshit. But there wasn't anything he could really do about it with them pressing the issue. Rules were rules and he had no choice but to follow them. That was just how things were.

So, at home he sat; trapped on the couch in his spacious living room flipping through the hundred or so channels on the 59 inch HDTV mounted on the wall. Hard to believe that with all the channels he had at his disposal, there wasn't one thing on that kept him interested enough to keep from surfing. Bored after twenty minutes of going from one station to the next, Trevor had finally settled on some show with a former drill sergeant talking about weapons through the ages and how they came to their modern incarnations.

It wasn't like he was into history or anything, but weapons – especially guns – held a special sort of interest for him. Much in the same way that girls did. Both were useful up to a certain extent and then could be abandoned in favor of something better; something sexier. Both could be loud and annoying to listen to over long periods of time. Both were useful in a fight for, admittedly, different reasons. And both could handle certain amounts of abuse before they were too worn down to take anymore.

Yes, the two were very much alike.

Trevor remembered watching the old drill sergeant rip apart a thick piece of plywood set up as a target for him with the weapon. The way in which the shots coming from the gun tore large, gaping chunks out of the wood with each blast made his eyes widen. That was _definitely_ something he wanted to add to his growing gun collection.

He knew that it wouldn't be too hard to get his hands on one. Afterall, his father was a military contractor who had plenty of contacts and 'old friends' among the United States Armed Forces. A few words here, few handshakes there and maybe a grand or two deposited into an account would be all it took for him to have it. There were always advantages to having money to burn.

The only problem for him would have been the waiting. Trevor hated waiting. Patience had never been – nor would it ever be – his best quality.

But now, it didn't seem like he'd have to wait anymore.

Looking back down at the AA-12, Trevor ran his fingers down the smooth, unused barrel of the powerful weapon. True, he wouldn't be able to add _this_ one to his collection but the opportunity that presented itself was one that he'd never have back home. Not without breaking the law. Not without trampling all over the rules that his parents forced him to live his life by. His amber eyes glazed over eerily as he continued to rub his fingers up and down the barrel of the shotgun.

He was in no way a killer, at least not in the sense of taking something else's life. He'd never even gone hunting or anything lame like that, despite his love for guns. He was too good for that; too _pretty_ for that. Spending time out in a cold, wet field waiting for a deer or some other kind of animal to show up so he could shoot it held absolutely no appeal for him. Besides, the only thing he really liked hunting were girls.

It could be challenging for the average man to bag some bimbo at a nightclub. But for him, it was pretty much no challenge at all. Most of them were easy kills so to speak; a quick smile, plenty of confidence and a couple of nice lies was all it took to end most of his nights in that hot and sweaty way he liked. In his opinion, _all_ girls were sluts. You just had to find the right way to bring that part of them out. It was something that he'd proved many times over with everything from hardcore, holy-rollers to shy, introverted little nerd bitches.

It never mattered how they carried themselves or what walk of life they came from. At the end of the hunt, they _all_ acted the exact same way. The cries of 'make me cum' or 'fuck me harder' coming from the mouths of straight-laced, Christian girls always brought a smile to his face.

Of course, he had also come across those few who were just too stubborn to know their place. They would often shrug off his advances and treat him like he was some common nobody. Not that he let those kinds of girls keep him from getting what he wanted. He just had to be more…creative. Either way it went, no matter how he managed it; they just ended up exactly where they were meant to be – on their backs and screaming out his name. Only in these cases, they weren't screaming out his name in pleasure. They were screaming it in pain.

He _always_ got what he wanted from a girl, one way or another.

Trevor's eyes remained vacant as he continued to stare at the AA-12 in what little daylight was left as the sun set in the horizon. The blood-red hued sunlight passed through the thick windows of the crane control room he'd chosen to hide himself in, draping everything in a sickening shade of dull crimson. The color of the violence he was pretty sure would soon be coming.

Trevor knew he'd been lucky to find the massive crane. The enormous machine hung above almost everything else on the rig. It was a place that offered him two distinct advantages; it gave him a high vantage point so he could see anyone moving around below him and there was only one way in. And with the weapon he had, he could make _very_ short work of any would-be assailant.

His lips compressed into a tight smile.

He wasn't a killer but he wasn't a loser either. Anyone who tried to come through that door wouldn't get a warning. They would get a gut-full of shotgun shells. Death wasn't an option for him. There were still way too many conquests for him at Cold Rivers High.

One that immediately came to mind was Wendy Prince. That prissy, holier-than-thou bitch could definitely use a mouthful of cock and white-washed face to knock her off her high horse. Though he'd never made a try for her at school, maybe he would change that while they were trapped on the oil rig together. And if she didn't want to go along with his little make-out session, he'd have to get…nasty.

The smile on his handsome face darkened along with his thoughts.

Continuing to stroke the barrel of the shotgun, Trevor wondered how many of the other students had already come to the same general conclusion that he did. That the laws they were raised to respect and accede to without question no longer applied. How many of them realized that there were absolutely _no_ rules here? No calls for moral upkeep? No laws to keep them from doing anything that they wanted to do? No punishment. No threat of a lawsuit that could bring jail time. They could _literally_ do whatever they wanted and get away with it!

It was anarchy in the truest sense of the word! They were all trapped in a game without any _sane_ rules to govern them! So what if only one of them could be alive at the end of it?

Once Trevor had realized that, once it had dawned fully in his mind; a strange kind of euphoria had washed over him. Rational thinking was soon replaced with a dull but gnawing desire. Depraved thoughts filling his head made his body shiver with a nervous excitement. It was a sensation he hadn't felt in a long time, not since that very first girl he'd fucked after she'd rejected and embarrassed him. But he had made the bitch pay. Oh yeah, he had definitely made _that_ bitch pay.

The laws and rules he was forced to live by had almost caught up with him then.

But now, he didn't to worry about that. He was free to act how he wanted. He didn't have to be concerned about his parents or his lawyer calling him down for the things he did. He didn't have to live by _their_ rules anymore. He could do whatever he wanted for as long as he wanted. All he had to do was stay alive.

His amber eyes glittered dangerously in the remaining light of a dying day.

There were so many conquests right here on this rig. And he could hunt them all. Do whatever he wanted to them. Hit them. Hurt them. Fuck them. Even…kill them.

He wouldn't have to worry about prettied up words or date-rape drugs or paying them off to keep their mouths shut afterwards. He wouldn't have to worry about them accusing him after the fact or trying to blackmail him for more money. He wouldn't have to worry about _any_ of that. He could treat the girls on the platform just like the sluts they were. And no one would ever know because he'd be the only one left at the end of things.

How did that old saying go? 'History is written by the victors'?

Trevor chuckled to himself. _Damn, I'm thinking like a total psycho right now. But then again, I've never seen things any clearer than I do now! I mean, I'm fucking free to do whatever the hell I want! No consequences. No stupid laws to hold me back. No reason to act decent or sane. I can even kill if I want to. I have to admit, I've always wondered what it would be like to shoot someone. All those guns in my collection and all I'd ever been able to shoot at were ballistic gel dummies. Now, I can really see the kind of damage they can do! I'll really be able to see the blood flow!_

A sudden chill cut through Trevor. The smile on his face faltered. For the first time in a long while, his hand stopped stroking the barrel of the AA-12. His amber eyes were still vacant and far-off, but life and fear were beginning to slowly return to them. And so was realization.

_But can I do it,_ he questioned to himself. _Can I really pull this trigger and kill someone? It looks so easy. Point, bang, dead. But just because it looks easy on TV or in the movies doesn't mean it will be. Ballistic gel dummies are one thing. An actual, living person is something else entirely! Then again, that's what I thought about everything _else_ too. Now it's 'old hat' to me and I don't really even give it a second thought._

_Dad's friend once told me that the first kill is the hardest but after that it becomes easier and easier to pull the trigger. A bit ironic, considering it's the same with some of the girls I fuck._ The oily smile returned to his lips in a slow and creepy sort of way. _Guess I'll get the chance to find out if he's right or not._

Whether or not he wanted to kill was beside the point. If he wanted to live through this craziness, he _had_ to. There was no other way around it. But at least with all the girls that were trapped in it with him, the insanity of the Japanese death game wouldn't be without _some_ perks.

_**-O-**_

_The bottoms of the girl's thighs were warm against his chest and abdomen as he positioned himself. Taking hold of his swollen, condom-wrapped erection; Trevor smacked the head of it against the girl's virgin clit. Low moans of excited nervousness escaped from her compressed lips with each slap of his dick upon its erect, triangular shape. He looked into her face with a knowing smirk._

_The girl's deep, brown eyes were lost; enraptured by the never-before-felt ecstasy rolling through her trembling body. Her hips quivered with instinctual urge as he continued to tease her cunt with his cock. Letting it rest against her clit, Trevor took torturous pleasure in slowly drawing it down the length of its sensitive flesh and between the wet outer lips of the girl's vagina. Her back arched back immediately in response along with a heightened groan of unhidden desire. With a wider smile, he repeated the movement again._

_She'd been an easy one to lure into his bed. Nothing forced a girl to give up her pussy faster than need. The long and short of it? She needed him to keep quiet and if she wanted to _get_ his silence, she was going to have to spread her legs. The fact that she was a virgin was an added bonus._

_Another low moan from the girl returned his thoughts to reality. She was squirming in anticipation, the lower part of her ass grinding hard against his pelvis. With each stroke of his dick against her erect clit and very wet lips, the nervousness and apprehension at losing her virginity melted from the girl's face. Each tease pulled her more and more into his depraved world of unrestrained lust. He knew her mind was blank now save for one thing; the need for him to be deep inside of her._

_That brought a smile to Trevor's face as he ran his length down her sensitive, virgin clit one final time and positioned its head between the lips of her cunt._

Time to become a woman, bitch.

_Without any kind of warning, without any kind of pity or feeling for what he knew the girl was about to go through; Trevor shoved his dick into her pussy as hard as he could. The expression on the girl's face changed immediately from lustful longing to wide-eyed agony._

"_O-oh…oowwww…! OOWWWWW! W-wait… St-stop… S-some…something's wrong… Pl-please…st-stop…!"_

_But Trevor ignored her pleas, grabbing hold of her shoulders instead. He pulled his cock out of her slick pussy about part way and then ruthlessly rammed it in again. The scream that tore from the girl's mouth only made his dick harder. He spared a glance at her face. It was twisted up in pain; eyes glistening with new tears and teeth now biting down on her lower lip to stifle new screams working their way up her throat as he ground his pelvis against hers'._

_As he did, trying with all his might to force himself through her hymen, the girl's hands pressed desperately against his chest even as she tried to wiggle her hips away from him._

"…_Pl…Please…oh God…" she managed to get out between grunts of pain. "Pl-please stop… It…it hurts…IT HURTS! PL…PLEASE TREVOR…ST-STOP…! _STOP!_"_

_Trevor answered her frantic cries by placing a hand callously over her mouth and thrusting into her again and again. He watched as the girl's tear-filled eyes widened in surprise with each stab he made into her. He could feel the sharp bite of her nails as they dug into the skin on his chest. His hand reverberated with each and every shrill scream and yell that came from her mouth._

_But he didn't care. He didn't stop. He WOULDN'T stop. He just kept pounding his dick into her harder and harder until he felt something inside her finally give way. The girl's eyes opened as wide as they could possibly go as the muffled sound of an agonized scream bled through his fingers._

_Not that it stopped him from plowing into her deeper and deeper now that he finally could._

_Pulling his hand from her mouth, Trevor grabbed hold of her shoulder again; using it as leverage to make each of his thrusts harder than the last. A squishy, wet noise began to fill the air as he continued to abuse the girl's cunt. Her legs rocked back and forward with every push he made into her. Nothing else came from her mouth save for the frequent sharp intakes of breath, painful whimpers and occasional grunts. All could've been an indication that the pain of her hymen being broken had yet to subside or that she was beginning to enjoy the fuck she was getting. It might have also been the shame and surprise at just how she'd lost her virginity keeping her from voicing anymore objections to what he was doing to her._

_Whichever it was, he could care less._

_Pushing up on the tips of his toes, Trevor positioned himself in such a way that the girl's body was folded at the waist. Her legs were trapped against his chest with her small feet to either side of his head. He watched her face with a dark, satisfied smile._

_The expression of pain, which had radiated so strongly earlier, was beginning to fade; replaced by a look that was an odd mix of shame, anger, fear and – unsurprisingly – ecstasy. Trevor almost laughed as he rammed his dick into her again and again; each thrust forcing a hoarse grunt from her mouth which she tried to stifle. His smile widened._

_The bitch _was_ enjoying it!_

_For all of her high-and-mighty, holy-rolling Christian ways, Priscilla Barnes was turning out to be a real fucking slut afterall! Just like her sister Lisa. It was such a crazy sense of irony! The girl didn't seem to get just how much like her older sibling she really was!_

_Of course, this only proved his point. _All_ girls were sluts. You just had to know how to bring it out in them. How to _fuck_ it out of them!_

_After another twenty minutes or so of hard fucking, Trevor felt his knees begin to buckle. He knew he was nearing his end. He could feel that familiar sensation in the erection he had buried deep inside of Priscilla's tight cunt. In a way, he was annoyed that he couldn't last any longer. But then, he couldn't really complain._

_Priscilla Barnes had been a _damn_ good ride!_

_Wrapping his arms around her body and pressing his chest into the hardened nipples of her small breasts, Trevor began to pound her wanting pussy as hard and as fast as he could. Priscilla's voice rose in response to his thrusts. She was no longer grunting, she was now groaning and moaning loudly in what seemed to be excited ecstasy. Trevor just tightened his embraced and placed his head besides hers. The squishy, wet sounds of his dick slamming into her cunt became even more pronounced as they echoed through the room. It all intermingled oddly with her moans and his own grunts of perverse pleasure._

_The intense feeling in his cock heightened with each thrust. He was close. He was so very close._

"_O…oh shit," he groaned. "I…I'm gonna come!"_

_Without any kind of warning, Priscilla's arms wrapped themselves around his neck. The sounds coming from her mouth weren't the sounds of a girl who'd been in pain earlier. They weren't the sounds of a girl who'd been begging him to stop or telling him that it hurt. They were the sounds of a girl enjoying a hard dick being shoved into her as far as it could go. They were the sounds of a girl getting off on being fucked like the slut she was. They were sounds that were like music to his ears._

_After ramming himself into her four or five more times, he pulled away from her with a sharp shiver and a heavy groan of release. His dick sliding out of Priscilla's cunt, Trevor reached down and yanked off the blood-stained condom; tossing it to the side. Still groaning, he wrapped his hand around his erection and began to jerk back and forth. It wasn't long before the warm semen that'd been building in his balls shot from the tip of it and splattered messily across her abdomen and hips. With a final grunt, the last bit of his cum dribbled to the mattress as he felt the hardness between his legs began to soften._

_Exhausted, Trevor fell away from Priscilla's sweaty, shuddering body. Weakly, he crawled over to the other side of the bed and collapsed. Her virginity glistened wetly on the wrinkled skin of the condom laying abandoned between them. The scent of lost innocence filled the entire room along with his sperm. He couldn't help but grin. That was another Christian girl who'd be doing a lot of praying for forgiveness in the next few weeks._

_Beside him, the dark-haired girl had turned her head away from him and rolled onto her side. Almost immediately afterward, she began to sob into the pillow. The realization of what she'd done, of what had been done to her, finally managed to cool the heat of the uncontrollable lust driving her near the end of the fuck he'd given her. Juices from her pussy, intermingled with a light flow of blood, left a grisly dark stain against the pure white bedsheets as it slowly trailed down from her inner thigh to the mattress. The pale skin of her stomach and pelvis was slick with sweat and his sperm._

"_Wh…why?"_

_The whispered words were nearly inaudible, but they still carried enough volume to catch his attention. He stifled the groan rolling up his throat with a bored yawn. "Why what?" he asked in an annoyed tone, pushing up from the bed wearily and maneuvering to the edge of it._

"_Why didn't you…stop when I asked you to?"_

_Trevor snickered before answering._

"_Was that before or after you began to enjoy it?" he returned in a flippant voice._

_Priscilla turned her head and stared at his back with teary, red eyes; voice growing louder and angrier. "That…that's not the point! I asked you to stop! I told you that it hurt! But you…you just kept on going! You…you… You _raped_ me!"_

_The words didn't even touch Trevor. It wasn't like he hadn't heard them before from every other straight-laced, bible-thumping bimbo he'd banged. It never ceased to amaze him how the sluts could be yelling out obscenities like bitches in heat one minute and throwing out accusations of rape the next. Stupid tramps really were only good for one thing._

_With a smirk and a short, bitter laugh, Trevor pushed up from the bed and turned to face her._

"_So? It's not like you didn't get off on what I was doing to you. In fact, you seemed to be enjoying it quite a bit near the end. So quit bitching and get over it."_

_Her eyes widening in complete disbelief, Priscilla sat up on the bed. The light on the ceiling illuminated the new tears trailing down her round cheeks and past a mouth that was just hanging open. She couldn't find any way to respond to what he had said. Her mind didn't seem like it was processing the information properly. The stupid look on her face made Trevor smile. It also made his next words all the more satisfying._

"_You said that you'd do _anything_ to keep Lisa's secret, didn't you? You said that it didn't matter _how_ you had to do it, right? As long as I kept my lawyer from digging around any further and exposing the truth about your sister, you'd get her to drop those rape charges against me. I also remember telling you that it was going to cost you, didn't I? Well, be happy. Your older sister's secret is safe. And all it _cost_ you was your virginity."_

_Each word that came from his mouth penetrated deeper and harder into Priscilla than any stroke from his cock. Every truth that he uttered made her heart bleed more than her tight little cunt had during the pounding he'd given it. The realization of what she'd done settled down on her even more. He watched with an uncaring smile as she fully broke down into tears again, fell to the soiled mattress and curled herself into a tight ball on the bed._

"_Remember that, you stupid bitch," he said a moment later in a harder, more serious tone. "Remember that for the next time your idiot sister decides to cry rape again. Remember why _you_ decided to get Lisa to drop the charges! Remember why you let me _fuck_ your ass in the first place! If you go back on our agreement now, I'll make sure your bitch sister hangs! You understand me?"_

_Priscilla said nothing. She didn't move. All she did was cry._

_Trevor gazed down at her with cold eyes._

"_When you're done feeling sorry for yourself," he began icily, reaching down for his boxers and pulling them on, "get your shit and get the fuck out of my house."_

_With that, Trevor grabbed up his pants and moved for the door to his room. He was hungry. But not for pussy. He'd just satisfied that hunger with Priscilla's hot little virgin cunt. No, what he wanted now was food – a sandwich maybe. And probably some chips too._

_Afterall, nothing worked up an appetite like taking some stupid slut's virginity._

_**-O-**_

Looking back down at the barrel of the AA-12, Trevor felt the familiar tingle of excitement between his legs that the memory of taking Priscilla Barne's virginity had given him. His hunger was returning. Fear and anxiety had drown it out briefly after awakening in the room with everyone else and learning of the reason they'd been brought to the oil platform. His desperation had smothered it as well; desperation to find a way to survive and be the one to make it home.

But now, that was changing.

Finding the Auto Assault 12 was the start. Realizing that he didn't have to follow any rules; that he didn't have to 'play nice' with the girls on the oil rig only made his new line of thinking easier to accept. Somewhere down deep, Trevor knew that his reasoning on the situation was wrong on every level. But he didn't care.

Why should he?

None of the girls were going to live long enough to make it back to the States to rat him out anyway. There wouldn't be a Lisa or Priscilla Barnes here to make his life a miserable hell. There weren't any rules to protect the stupid bitches now. They would be completely at his mercy.

And he had no intention of showing them any in the slightest.

Gazing out of the triple-paned window of the crane's control room with a knowing grin, it disappeared when his amber eyes caught movement on the platform's main deck below him. Heart beginning to beat faster in his chest, Trevor hefted the AA-12 and pulled away from the window as quick as he could. Instincts taking control of his actions, he flattened himself against the interior wall to avoid being seen. His momentary elation and excitement were again subsumed by fear and panic.

Who was that? Had they seen him? Did they know he was up here? Did they have a gun too?

More disquieting thoughts rumbled through his mind as he leaned back-first against a blind corner next to the side window. The tension building up within him was exploiting his earlier reservations. Even though he knew he had the high ground, knew he had the superior weapon and the advantage; he just couldn't shake that primal fear still dogging him.

Yeah, he could rape the girls to his heart's content. Beat them around _and_ use them as shields to keep himself alive. But there were still the other boys to consider; some of which scared the shit out of him when he first saw them in the briefing room. He already knew that some of them would play to win. If he came across any of them, he had a nagging feeling that they would kill him without even blinking an eye. Some of them just looked _that_ damn ruthless to him.

Trevor knew that he wasn't as immune to death as he would've liked to believe; bad ass weapon or not. His love of guns and rudimentary talents in using them wouldn't get him very far in the bloodsport he'd been thrown into, no matter what he wanted to believe. This was why he needed to find some dumb cunt he could force into partnering up with him. She didn't need to have any skills other than sucking his dick, being a decent cum-dump on occasion and acting as a serviceable shield when the time came. That was all _any_ of those bitches were worth to him. They didn't have any other purpose as far as he was concerned.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he cautiously peeked around the outer edge of the wall to look out the window. His amber eyes scanned the exposed areas of the deck below him, searching for the person he had seen. After a few seconds, they found the one he'd been hiding from. Almost immediately, his eyes narrowed.

It was a girl! A stupid, fucking bitch! All the while he'd been ready to piss his pants, thinking that one of the boys from the room had spotted him. And it'd been one of the dumb cunts he'd been planning on fucking over all the along!

The anger boiled inside him.

Confidence returning along with a renewed sense of callousness, Trevor edged up to the window to get a better look at the bitch below him. The sun may have been setting but there was still more than enough light for him to see her by. She was blond and all legs. Even from his vantage point, he could tell that her skin was dark – probably tanned – and was only covered by a pair of fold up, cuff shorts and a long, loose top that stopped just above where her shorts ended. He could also tell how terrified she was.

Not that he knew from seeing it on her face or anything. No, he could see it in the way she moved; how she skulked from shadow to shadow, trying to look everywhere at once. It was also obvious in how she was checking every doorknob that she came across. With night fast approaching and most of the others from the room probably released, there was only one thing that the stupid bitch could be looking for that desperately.

A place to hide.

He couldn't keep from licking lips. This was going to be even easier than he thought! All he had to do was bide his time; watch until she found what she was looking for and wait for her to settle in thinking she was safe. And that was when he would strike.

Dark grin playing across his lips, Trevor watched as the girl continued her fretful search for safety. Watched and waited.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

A burgeoning socialite and Alisia Benetti's BFF, Brenda Hughes has known nothing but the easy life since befriending the pampered senator's daughter. In the time spent by the girl's side, Brenda has rode her coattails to a higher level of social status than she would have ever thought possible. It seemed like a dream that she would never wake up from.

But now she has; by way of her entrance into 'the Blitz' and separation from Alisia.

Yet even she couldn't imagine how much worse it would get for her. Leaving the side of the only other person that she could trust in a fit of blind rage after a misunderstanding, Brenda finds herself lost and alone on the platform. Seeking and finding safety, Brenda is relentlessly haunted by memories of a past she didn't want to remember and threatened by a present that could leave her dead.

Chafing dangerously under the pressures of her new situation, can Brenda keep herself from becoming 'the Blitz's' first casualty?

**Coming soon, "The Indian, the Princess and the Death that Came for Them",**

**Chapter 13 of **_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

First, I want to apologize for how long it took to get this chapter out. Personal issues aside, there really wasn't excuse for it taking this long other than laziness and procrastination. For that, I am sorry.

I also want to apologize for the brevity of this chapter. It was intended to be much longer than I finally wrote it out to be. That damned sex scene lasted longer than I really wanted it to. But it played such a big factor in shaping Trevor's general personality that I let run.

And that brings me to the core of my **Author's Note**.

If anyone FAILS to hate Trevor Gates, then I didn't do my job as an author! LOL! But seriously, Trevor Gates was written with the intent to hate, not pity. In a way, he's a lot like a male Alisia Benetti – spoiled, arrogant and used to getting his way. The only thing that really separates them is his vague respecting of the rules that governed his life while he was still at home. Alisia doesn't have that respect and never did, feeling that she is _above_ the rules because of her status of wealth. Trevor is also a character that hasn't really changed much from my early designs. He was always intended to be a chauvinist asshole that looked at women as pieces of meat rather than people. The fact that he's a rapist as well shouldn't come as any big surprise.

There's not much more for me to say about him, really. He's not a personal favorite of mine. But I think he'll serve well in his role as a villainous character.

I think this is where I'll close my **Note**. Sorry for not going anymore in-depth into Trevor's character but my head has been pounding for the past two days and I pretty much forced myself to finish this chapter today. If it's not up to my usual standards, I again apologize.

Hope you enjoy it!

Ciao!

Terryll


	19. The Indian, the Princess and the Death

**1****st**** AMERICAN BLITZ**

**CHAPTER 13**

* * *

**Girls, No. 08**

**Brenda Hughes**

**"The Indian, the Princess and the Death that Came for Them"**

* * *

Her crumpled, unopened white envelope, GPS and canteen lay on the floor next to the foot of the camp bed's rusty metal frame. Beside them sat her expensive, Jean-Michel Cazabat Talia thong sandals. Heaped in a messy pile along the wall adjacent to the door were the dusty, filthy linens and blanket which had once covered the bed.

Upon arriving and settling into her new hiding place, she'd stripped them off the frame's futon mattress and tossed them to the floor. She might not have been as eccentric as her friend Alisia but even she had certain standards. Plus, she was pretty sure some greasy, sweaty roughneck had slept on them while the rig was in operation. So there was no way in hell she was going to lay her body on top of something so nasty.

The small room seemed to be some sort of hideaway; a place where, she guessed, one of the rig workers could take a break and sneak a quick nap. It was dark and dirty, smelling faintly of gas and oil. Any other time, that alone would've been enough to disgust her.

Now, she almost didn't care.

Keeping herself safe and alive was the only thing on her mind when she'd stumbled across it. The fact that the room was comparable to a pigsty in her eyes was beside the point. All that mattered to her was that it had a door that could be locked so no one else could get in while she was there. It did and for the time being, she knew that she would be safe. Not that it made her _feel_ any safer.

Only a thin, metal door with a cheap bolt lock separated her from anyone else who wanted in. And if they wanted in bad enough, that wouldn't be near enough to keep them out. That only gave her one _more_ reason to keep as quiet as possible. Afterall, Brenda knew the longer she could keep hidden, the longer she would live.

At the time, those thoughts comforted her. They gave her the only sense of hope she had left. And that allowed her a much needed peace of mind. As long as no one knew that she was there; the small room would at least offer her temporary salvation from the death that was all but guaranteed outside it. But that still didn't stop the room from feeling more like a prison cell than anything else.

Unfortunately, though, a fitful sleep full of nightmares and a waking scream had left Brenda with serious doubts as to whether or not her 'hiding spot' could even be considered that anymore.

_Lisi…_

As usual, thinking of her friend assaulted her mind with unwanted images and thoughts. They plagued her again now that she was awake and were also the reason why she hadn't been able to get any rest during her failed attempt at sleep. All they had done was left her sitting huddled on the camp bed in a tight ball; staring blankly at the door on the opposite end of her hiding place with weary blue eyes. The nightmares had left her frightened, for all the world, that someone was going to bust through it at any moment.

Brenda heaved another low sigh and tightened the grip of her arms around her bare legs, pulling them closer to her chest. Her red and black, designer-nailed toes clenched at the coarse fabric of the mattress nervously. That peace of mind she'd achieved was long since shattered.

She was _still_ shaking hard from the horror she'd felt after waking up from a brief, restless slumber; dark dreams that she'd screamed herself free of only minutes ago now just lingering fragments in her head. Long black streaks ran down her tanned cheeks. The remnants of the mascara she'd placed on her eyelashes with an expert hand had been ruined by the tears she couldn't control.

How long had it been since she had last cried that hard?

_Lisi_. The name echoed in her head again. This time it was followed by a brief stab of sorrow and faintly remembered nightmares. _God, _please_ be okay._

The status of her friend was an endless source of anxiety for Brenda. The grief and misery of not knowing what had happened to Alisia Benetti was playing havoc with her mind and heart. She couldn't concentrate. She couldn't think clearly. And worse still, she couldn't make herself relax.

She had tried to force herself to sleep, to get some kind of rest to shake away her weariness and worry after she'd first settled into the small space. As tired as she was, it came easy; exhaustion claiming her almost as soon as she laid her head down on the caseless pillow. Not that it would stay that way.

Brenda had only managed about twenty or so minutes of actual sleep and the slumber itself was fitful and restless. She was tormented with images of Alisia's broken, bleeding body with Nick Lang and his fat bitch friend Vikki Shaw standing over it – pointing and laughing like it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen. She vaguely recalled twisting and turning on the worn, old futon in a vain effort to shake away the images. It didn't help, of course, and they only grew worse from that point on.

None of what she saw in her mind's eye was kind. It was like a collage of misery piled on top of pain piled on top of death. Every image was a harrowing experience that threatened to shake her awake.

In one, she killed Alisia. In another, her best friend killed her. In a third, they died together in each other's arms. A fourth, they were gunned down as they raced toward a rescue helicopter.

On and on they went, each darker and bloodier than the last.

Nick and Vikki hacking them apart with machetes even as they pleaded for their lives.

Brenda being forced to watch as Japanese soldiers took turns brutally raping Alisia before riddling her body with bullets from their automatic rifles.

Lisi, driven crazy by what was happening to them, torturing her before stabbing her over and over again. All the while laughing like a maniac.

Faceless boys raping every part of her body, dragging her up to beat her to within an inch of her life before throwing her back down to violently rape her again while Lisi was treated the same.

More and more. Worse and worse. The images haunted her. They took her to places that she never wanted to return to. They awakened memories she didn't want to recall.

Hateful eyes. Dark faces with deceitful smiles. A cruel expression of satisfaction. Those few words spoken. Their meaning burning in her ears. Screams that went unanswered. Pleas that went unheard. A large room full of laughter. Her entire world torn apart.

Her dreams quickly became worse than her reality.

Almost thirty minutes after she'd managed to first fall into that broken slumber; Brenda had awoken with an abrupt, piercing scream. Eyes wide and body soaked with sweat from the stuffy humidity. Her chest rose up and down so hard and fast that she thought she would start to hyperventilate. Only the grim, dark interior of the room greeted her eyes; something that she was very thankful for. _Anything_ that allowed her escape from those nightmares.

Of course, realization gripped her almost immediately. It took her all of a few seconds to remember where she was and why she was hiding. On instinct, she clamped both hands over her mouth in unison; doing what she could to banish the images still lingering in her head and struggling to choke down the other screams working their way up her throat.

She didn't know how long she spent staring at the metal door not even five yards away from the end of the camp bed. All she knew for certain was that she was scared shitless that she might've given herself away to anyone near her hiding place. And if it turned out she had, her nightmares would be nothing compared her reality.

Seconds stretched into minutes. Minutes ticked further and further away from when she'd screamed. Through it all, Brenda sat on the narrow bed as quiet as a mouse, hoping with what little belief she had in God that no one had heard her. The silence soon became a loud roar in her ears. After almost ten minutes of mind-numbing terror, she reluctantly tried to relax.

The darkness of the room seemed smothering; enclosing itself around her like an anaconda strangling its prey. She hated the way it heightened her already on-edge fear. But she didn't dare turn on the room's single, overhead light. If her screaming hadn't given her away, the light certainly would with that wide crack under the door; especially with it getting closer and closer to nightfall.

She tried to fight off the shiver she felt working its way up spine and failed. Her body trembled. The anxiousness and paranoia almost had her too scared to breathe; fear-dominated thoughts convincing her that even the slightest sound would get her killed. She had no idea of what to do. She wanted to leave the room – her sanctuary, her prison – to go and find Lisi. But she was too frightened to move, too frightened to do anything.

Frozen by the suffocating nightmares that still held her in their tormenting embrace.

Brenda could remember another time she was this miserable. She'd been invited to the Sweet Sixteen of the biggest 'it girl' at George Romano Diomatti by her former BFF, Megan Richardson. It was her first major social event after having to switch schools. It was also the first time she would interact with Alisia Benetti. Of course, she had wanted everything to be perfect and go right. More than anything else, she _needed_ it too with everything else that was wrong in her life.

But even back then, Brenda knew hoping for that – like her survival in this crazy game – would be nothing more than a stupid pipe-dream.

_**-O-**_

_"__Will you _stop_?" Brenda asked in an agitated tone as she slapped at the older woman's hand. "You're going to stretch the hem."_

_In front of a tall stand mirror with an intricate and elegantly worked frame, Brenda tried to admire how the Elie Tahari Gwen Dress she'd bought from Saks Fifth Avenue hugged her body. She had specifically bought it a size too small to accentuate all of her curves in the best ways possible. On the bed behind her lay an open shoe box. Inside was a pair of silver, Jimmy Choo Clue Slingback pumps. As soon as she'd seen them, Brenda had known they would match up well with the shimmery, flower-print material of her dress. Tonight was going to be very important. No, it was more than important. It was absolutely crucial! She _had_ to look her best._

_Now, if only she could convince her mother of that._

_"__I am _not_ going to stretch the hem," the woman returned in a huff, pulling her hand away with a scowl. "And if you slap my hand one more time, Ms. Hughes, I'll show you the _true_ meaning of 'disinherited'."_

_Brenda made a hasty turn to look down at the stern countenance of Sheila Harper. Her complexion paled somewhat. Her blue eyes widened as she readied a protest to the stupidity that had just come from her mother's mouth._

_"__Oh stop," Sheila grumbled as she dropped her eyes from Brenda's disapproving stare and began to mess around with the dress's hemline again, "you know that I would never do something like that to you. And even if I _wanted_ to, I couldn't. Now stop fidgeting. Besides, it's what you get for buying the dress a size too small."_

_"__Like I had a choice," Brenda responded in an absent tone, frowning down at her mother before returning her gaze back to the reflection in the mirror. "I totally have to make a statement tonight. With everyone that'll be there? _Only_ the most important girls from school? If I mess up tonight, I… I'll… I don't –"_

_Comforting hands placed themselves on her shoulders. Brenda hadn't even realized that her mother had stood up until she felt them. Her mind was too caught up in her current crisis. In the mirror, she could see that her mom's face had softened. "You will," she breathed. "Oh honey, you will. They'll all stand up and take notice of you. Afterall, you're _my_ daughter! How could they not?"_

_Brenda couldn't help but sigh. "Not like anybody will know," she muttered, "considering we don't even _have_ the same last name anymore."_

_Sheila's hands tightened on her shoulders for a moment before pulling Brenda around to face her again._

_"__Is _that_ what you're really worried about?" she asked, looking straight into Brenda's blue eyes._

_She said nothing, averting her gaze from her mother's piercing stare. The older woman gave a loud sniff. "I've told you a hundred times before, Brenda, that you are not the _only_ child who doesn't share the same last name as her mother living in the Upper East Side or going to that school of yours. I _thought_ that you would have learned to understand and accept that by now."_

_Angrily shrugging her shoulders away from her mom's hands, Brenda turned and walked past her toward the patio doors that led out to the balcony of their penthouse. "Really, mom? Really? Is _that_ what you think?" she retorted. "So, you just want me to accept the fact that I can't hide from what he did while _you_ can? Yeah, like sending me to Diomatti would make things _any_ easier! New school does _not_ equal new start! Do you know what I had to go through this month alone? Can you say barely registering socially?" She stopped just short of the doors and whirled around to face her mother again, eyes livid._

_"__I mean, did you _really_ think moving me to another school would keep me from becoming a social zero? A fucking blip on the radar? Hel-LO! News flash! Dad plus scandal equals 'Hughes' becoming a UES social stigma! In _my_ world, that means I'd be better off dead! Do you even understand how _hard_ it's been for me? _Do you?_"_

_Arms crossed in front of her robed chest, Sheila regarded Brenda with cool eyes and a flat look._

_"__What _I_ understand," she began in an all-too-serious tone, "is that _you_ are only thinking of yourself again. Dear God Brenda, do you really think it was any easier for me just because I went back to using my maiden name? 'Harper' is hardly recognized in most of my social circles and most of our accounts and other assets were filed under your father's name on top of that! And because of the constant litigation and interference from your grandparents, I can't get anywhere near them!_

_"__The only reason we're even still living the way we are is because of your trust fund and what few holdings I had under _my_ name! Do you really think that we'd be living here if your last name _wasn't_ 'Hughes'? For Heaven's sake, they _own_ this building and most of the others on this block! Do you really think that we could survive without _you_ as a link to him and his money? Christ Brenda, you _know_ how they feel about me!"_

_Brenda opened her mouth to say something but her mother cut her off with a wave of the hand. Annoyed, she compressed her lips into a pouty grimace that her mother didn't seem to notice. That or she simply just ignored it._

_"__No. Listen," Sheila continued in a terse voice. "The Hughes' are an 'old money' family, Brenda. They've survived countless scandals, some worse than this one. If you believe for one minute that they can't outlast the mess your father has made of their name, then you're dead wrong. They _will_ endure._

_"__And because you are attached to them, because you share their name; you won't have anything to worry about. Family is very important to them…"_

_Brenda noticed the change in her mother's expression before she paused. It was a bitter, irritated look that carried a noticeable trace of sadness._

_"_…_To them," her mother continued. "_Blood_ is everything."_

_Unsure of how to respond, Brenda said nothing in return; content to just stand where she was and think about everything she had just heard. She knew, all too well, of the shaky ground that existed between her mother and her grandparents. From the way she'd grown to understand it, they had been at each other's throats long before Brenda was born. Her father's parents hadn't been too happy about their only son marrying a woman whose name meant less than nothing in the hard-edged social world that they weren't just a part of, but sat atop. How _could_ they approve of such a marriage when they were under the impression it would tarnish their image of wealth and power?_

_If there was anything that had been hammered into her head more than once by her grandparents while growing up in the UES; it was that image was everything when you held the top position in its upper echelon. And that was one of the reasons why Maureen Laumont's Sweet Sixteen party was stressing her so hard. She was already riding the edge of social suicide with her father's trial and inevitable conviction making headlines on CNN. If she didn't make a good first impression there – in front of the likes of Jordan Bington, Rachel Halford or Alisia Benetti – she knew that she wouldn't be able to show her face at Diomatti Monday morning._

_Why Megan had gone against her wishes and got her invited to the party had her more than suspicious of the girl's motives. As it stood, things between the two of them had soured a few weeks after her father's arrest. 'Friendship' wasn't a word that she would use to describe their relationship anymore. Given that fact, there was only one _real_ reason why Megan had invited her; something she'd begin to suspect as the time for the party grew closer and closer. The girl was going to use her to save face by burying her socially at a party where almost all of Diomatti's elite would be in attendance._

_In truth, it was brilliant move; one that Brenda would've applauded and been _more_ than behind if she weren't the one on the receiving end._

_The anxiety that she was feeling must have been evident on her face because her mother's expression changed again and she crossed the carpeted floor toward her; arms outstretched and wearing a concerned look of her own. "Oh baby," she crooned, taking Brenda into her arms and hugging her tall body close, "I know you're worried. But you'll do fine. I know you will."_

_After giving her a consoling rub on the back, her mother pulled away but still held Brenda firmly by the shoulders. "Just be yourself," she said with a slight smile. "And remember where you come from. You're a part of the family that helped to elevate the social strata here to where it is now. You're a Hughes honey, and no one can ever take that away from you. Be proud of that and make sure the other girls at that party _know_ that you are."_

_Brenda gave her mother a weak grin. She made it all sound _so_ simple. Walk in, declare herself as a Hughes and everything would just fall into place for her. She _wished_ it were that easy! If it was, maybe she wouldn't have had to switch schools; maybe she wouldn't have to worry about making such a big first impression in front of Diomatti's 'it girls'. Maybe she also wouldn't have to worry about her former BFF's imminent betrayal._

_Just because she came from an 'old money' family didn't mean her life was going to be any easier. If anything, and especially with everything surrounding her father, it was going to be even _harder_ to gain status at Diomatti. The kids there were already looking at her like she didn't belong; like she was beneath them because of what he did. The gossip she'd been getting bits and pieces of only made it worse._

_With circumstances the way they were, the party was going to end up being the final nail in the coffin her father had built for her if she couldn't turn things around somehow. But with Megan spear-heading her inevitable social downfall, it seemed all but impossible to do so. There was just no way out that she could see._

_As usual, her mother had absolutely _no_ idea what it was like to be in her shoes._

"_You're right," she acceded, not wanting to further complicate her feelings with more arguing. "Really don't know what I was thinking. Guess it was just everything…you know, with Dad and changing schools and this party and… _Total_ stress out, that's all. I'm sure everything'll be five-by-five."_

_Her mother's face seemed to brighten at that. "Well then," she said, giving Brenda's shoulders a slight, affectionate squeeze, "let's make sure that every eye at that party will be on you. I have some earrings and a matching necklace that will look absolutely _fabulous_ with that dress! The shoes you chose are going to be gorgeous and if you wear the rings I…"_

_Brenda zoned out the rest of what her mother was saying. In the end, it was all meaningless anyway. No amount of glitter and glitz was going to erase what her father had done from the minds of everyone who would attend that party. She may as well be walking to the gallows. Her supposed friend, Megan, had succeeded in placing a noose of social death around her neck._

_And Brenda knew that as soon as she showed up at that Sweet Sixteen, the girl was going to be more than happy to pull the switch that would hang her._

_**-O-**_

An abrupt pounding against the thin door ripped Brenda out of her reverie with a frightened jump. Her heart practically leapt into her throat. Hands flying up to her mouth again to stifle the screams she knew were coming, her blue eyes stared at the vibrating door in terror.

"Hey!" a boy's voice called from the other side. "Are you alright in there? C'mon, answer me!" Those last words were followed by more pounding against the door. In a fit of panic, Brenda pulled her hands from her mouth and scampered to the edge of the camp bed. The rusted springs of the frame squealed loudly, giving away her hasty movements. That brought another bout of pounding on the door and more words from whoever was on the other side of it.

"I can hear you in there! Open the door! I'm not gonna hurt you, I swear! I just wanna make sure you're okay!" Brenda heard him call out as she dropped down to the dirty deck and grabbed up her sandals. Nervous hands tried to work her feet into them. Fear and panic made it harder than it should've been. Even after she managed to pull them on, her fingers fumbled with the straps. The urgency of her situation was forcing Brenda to concentrate more on the shuddering door than her shoes.

"Alright, fine. Just say something so I'll know that you're alright and I'll leave you alone!"

"G…GO AWAY!" she screamed, finally managing to fasten the sandals' straps. "JUST…JUST FUCKING GO AWAY!"

The pounding on the door stopped immediately. The sudden quiet made Brenda very uneasy. Grabbing hold of her envelope, canteen and GPS, she scooted herself along the metal floor until she felt her back hit the wall the head of the camp bed lay against. Hugging the items close, she stared at the door with wide, terrified eyes.

Breath escaped from her mouth in short, quick gasps. The heat, humidity and fear forced more sweat from her already saturated skin. The wall was warm against her back and offered no comfort. She trembled hard, frightened blue eyes never once leaving the door.

Was he still out there? Did he really leave? Or was he just being quiet to lure her out. Waiting for her to think it was safe again before trying to force his way through that rickety door to kill her.

Brenda almost screamed at that thought.

How could this have happened? Why did she have to have those stupid nightmares and wake up screaming? Why didn't she just stay awake in the first place? Then none of this would be happening! If she'd just kept her fucking eyes open, she would have never _had_ those crazy nightmares about her and Lisi! She'd still be safe and hidden from the other psychos who shared the rig with her. She wouldn't _be_ in danger right now!

She barely noticed how much closer to her body she was hugging the items in her arms.

Her heart pounded in her chest. She was going to die! He wasn't gone. She _knew_ he wasn't! He was just out their lurking! As soon as she lowered her guard, he was going to strike! That crap about asking if she was alright; telling her that all he wanted was to know that she was okay and then he'd leave. It was just pure bullshit! He was going to kill her!

Brenda's mind blanked with terror. Her breathing quickened, becoming raspy and haggard. She was trapped and she knew it. The dark, filthy room that was supposed to keep her safe would become her tomb.

An image flashed through her head.

In it, she was lying face down on the deck; a growing pool of blood surrounding her. Her flesh was irregular and torn, shredded almost down to the bone in some places. Blood was everywhere. So much blood!

An uncontrollable shiver lanced up her spine. Her body shook in tune with it. As she trembled, the sound of something scraping against the wall behind her caught her ear. Brenda didn't bother trying to hold back the scream that worked its way into her throat as she threw down her items and bolted directly for the door in a blind panic.

In a matter of seconds, she had undone the wobbly lock, turned the grimy latch and shoved the door open. The ocean air greeted Brenda as she rushed out of the room, cooling her sweaty body and relieving her of the brutal humidity she'd endured while inside. But she paid the feeling no mind. Fear was driving her actions now and her thoughts couldn't be wasted on anything else.

Brenda immediately turned left and ran from the open doorway. She didn't bother looking behind her as she did. She didn't want to see the person who was going to kill her. All she wanted to do was get away. All she wanted to do was _live_!

"Hey!" a voice hollered from behind. "Wait! I'm not gonna hurt you!"

He was lying. She _knew_ he was. Why else would he lurking behind the small building if _not_ to kill her?

"_JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!_" she yelled into the air, trying to push her legs to move faster. Brenda knew the words would be useless against someone dead-set on killing her. But she held on to a small, vanishing hope that someone might hear her and come to her rescue. There had to be _someone_ on the rig like that! There just had to be! "_HELP! OH GOD, SOMEBODY PLEASE –"_

Without warning, her feet tripped over something. Letting loose a rough scream that cut her pleas for help short, she lost her balance and stumbled over her own legs. Brenda fell down to the metal deck of the platform hard enough to knock the wind out of her. As she landed, the side of her head cracked nastily against the unforgiving surface of the rig. She lay there for a moment, head throbbing in pain; trying to catch her breath as spots of color danced in her eyes. She tried to push up from the deck but her arms and legs felt rubbery; unable to hold her weight.

She had to get up! She had to run! If she didn't, she was going to die right where she'd fallen! He was coming for her!

Loud sounds came from behind, indistinguishable grunts and groans lost to the pain she was in. She felt dizzy. Her ears were ringing. The world was beginning to spin around her. Nausea twisted her stomach into knots. Her sight dimmed. Everything was getting darker. Fear gripped her heart tightly.

Was she…dying?

She hazily felt a hand wrap itself around her shoulder. Was it…her mother? She did that often, grabbing her shoulders. She did that the day before that horrible, horrible party she'd gone to. But wait…that couldn't be right. Her mother didn't go on the trip with her. Lisi had. And that party had been a year and a half ago.

The hand on her shoulder gripped tighter; pulling her off her side and onto her back. Brenda looked up groggily, dimming eyes finding a handsome face staring down at her. She couldn't tell much more than that though. It was like someone had smeared a thin layer Vaseline over her eyes to blur her world.

Instincts, however, struck faster than comprehension. Her arms and legs seemed to move on their, trying desperately to backpedal away from whoever was standing over her. Frazzled mind eventually catching up with her body, Brenda had the abrupt realization that she could be staring into the face of the boy who was trying to kill her.

Senses beginning to return, she put more effort in trying to move. The world still spun around her and it was hard to keep the boy's face in one place. But that didn't stop her. She had to get away!

Suddenly the boy fell down on top of her. Brenda let out a stiff grunt as his weight crushed down on her abdomen. Without a word, his hands begin to tear at her top; yanking and pulling on it until it tore. She could feel the cool air on the skin of her exposed, bra-covered chest. But the boy wasn't done. He slipped a hand beneath the bra and cupped it around her bare breast with hard fingers; giving it a rough squeeze. Even with her senses still dull after falling against the deck and smacking her head, she knew what was happening.

The boy was trying to rape her! It was her worst nightmare come true!

Forcing strength into her arms, she raised them against the boy's chest and tried to push him off of her. But he knocked them aside easily and then backhanded her, screaming, "You keep fighting me and I'll kill you, bitch! Just sit back and enjoy the ride you're about to get!"

The strike had been so hard that she tasted blood in her mouth. But it had done more than just draw blood. It had also scared her. So much, in fact, that she immediately stopped struggling against him. She'd never been hit like that before. The pain had been so sharp...so _real_! She didn't _ever_ want to be hit like that again. Desire to fight back gone, she dropped her arms back to the deck and let the boy continue to fondle and molest her.

Her vision cleared a little more. She could almost see his face fully. Those stranger amber eyes. The smooth unblemished skin. The neatly trimmed bangs. And the unhidden lust twisting his expression into something terrible and dark.

He was going to rape and kill her. It was going to be just like her nightmare. She was going to die in the most horrible way she could imagine. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Tears forming in her eyes, Brenda closed them. She didn't want to see the look on his face as he was raping her. She didn't want to see the lust. She didn't want to see him getting off while she was in pain. She didn't want _any_ of that to be the last thing she saw.

The weight lifted off of her abdomen and a second later, his hand traveled beneath her shorts. She clenched her jaw as his fingers slipped under her panties and violently spread apart her outer lips. The tears flowed down her cheeks in thin rivulets as a finger entered her. His other hand busied itself with both of her breasts now, her top and bra long since torn aside to expose them. She bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood as he rubbed them; occasionally giving one of the nipples a quick pinch.

It wouldn't be too long before had put something else inside of her. That thought only made her cry harder.

Without warning, the boy released a stifled grunt and both of his hands pulled away from her body. Eyes opening immediately, Brenda looked through the tears and saw another boy with long, black hair throwing him to the ground. He soon followed that up with a stiff kick to her would be rapist's gut.

Grabbing the remains of her top with one arm, she pulled it up around her bare chest and weakly pushed up on the other. _Who's that,_ she thought shakily. _Did he hear me screaming? Is he trying to help me?_

Her mind whirled woozily. And suspiciously. Was that long-haired boy _really_ there to save her? Or would he just pick up where the other one had left off instead. Just how much could she trust his intentions – any boy's intentions – after almost being raped by one?

She wanted to get up and run away from the violence erupting before her because of just that. Afterall, the boy wasn't anyone she knew. He wasn't Nick Lang – not that she could really trust _him_ after what'd happened. But she'd rather have him than someone she knew nothing about.

Yes, running was the only option she had left. Yet her body still felt too weak to do anything other than lie there on a propped arm. She only had enough strength to breathe and watch what was happening. Doing anymore than that was out of the question.

In front of her, the long-haired boy had straddled the one who'd been trying to assault her. While the other struggled to buck him off, the one on top grabbed him by the hair and began to punch him hard in the face. The boy getting punched tried to fend off the blows and, when that didn't work, began to land random punches in his assailant's unprotected side. The long-haired boy threw a few more shots to the amber-eyed teen's head before going after the arm punching him.

The boy lying on the deck used the opportunity to shove the other one off of him. He quickly scrambled back to his hands and knees, turned and half-walked, half-crawled toward something long and black resting on the deck a few feet away from him. Brenda continued to watch, too hurt and too stunned to move, as the long-haired boy rushed him just before he reached it. They both slammed into the deck.

Grabbing an arm and pinning it with his knee, the dark-skinned teen mounted the amber-eyed boy and began to punch him in the back of his head as hard as he could. The other boy continued to grope desperately for what she could only assume was his weapon. His fingers only managed to graze it and not much else. If things continued the way they were going, the one who tried to rape her was going to be beaten into unconsciousness.

Not that she minded one bit, with what he'd tried to do to her.

Without warning, the long-haired boy stopped in mid swing. "What the hell," she heard him mutter as he stared down at the other boy. Brenda then saw his eyes widen as he quickly reached a hand up to his neck. He turned to face her and his expression went from fearful to terrified. "Shit!" he cursed, dropping his hand from where it'd been brushing close to his throat. But before she could build up the courage to ask what was wrong, he pushed up from the other boy and ran off in the opposite direction as fast as he could.

All she could do was stare after him until he disappeared into the surrounding superstructure. Had…had he just abandoned her? Had he just left alone…alone with the bastard who'd tried to _rape_ her? Maybe he had already knocked him unconscious? But then, why did he look at her with such a horrified expression?

Brenda gazed over at the other boy with hopeful eyes. But the hope turned to fear when she saw him stirring and trying to push up from the deck. Panicked, weak and still in pain; she tried to backpedal away from him before he could get up. Terror was filling her mind again. Desperation swallowed her ability to reason and drowned her mind hopelessness. She knew she had to get up and run. But fear and the sharp pain in the side of her head kept her firmly planted on the ground.

Why had the other boy just abandoned her like that? Why had he looked at her like that? What was he so scared of?

The amber-eyed teen pushed up to his knees and grabbed hold of his weapon. Her heart beat uselessly in her chest, faster and faster, as he turned in her direction. His eyes held nothing but hate and the promise of a brutal, endless rape. The mad grin that crept across his bruised and bloodied face filled her with terror. She knew what was coming next. God help her she knew!

"L…Looks like it's j-just you…you and me, slut," he spat out, using the long, black weapon support his weight. "After…after I'm done fucking you, I…I'm gonna blow your fucking head off!"

With a horrified expression, Brenda watched him stand up from the deck. As she did, the flashing lights atop his collar caught her eyes. Had they always been red? And why did it look like they were blinking faster and faster? Without warning, the flashing stopped; the lights remaining a bright, blood-red.

At that moment, that very second; the smile on the boy's face vanished. His head jerked back in what looked like agonizing pain, hand dropping his weapon as both rose frantically to his PISCES collar. The veins and arteries stood out grotesquely in his neck as he tried to wrap his fingers around the collar's smooth, metal surface. She watched in absolute terror as the white of his amber eyes began to spot with growing dots of red. With a gurgled scream, the boy stumbled to his knees; still struggling with the PISCES collar.

Blood was now running freely from both his eyes and his nose. His face had become deathly pale; looking ghastly with all the blood and bruising that was covering it. He tried to open his mouth to say something. She couldn't understand why he was having so much trouble speaking until she noticed that his lips were unnaturally swollen and bluish. Her eyes went wide in disgust and horror as she tried to put as much distance between herself and the boy as she possibly could. When he finally managed to part those bloated, hideous lips; nothing came out but more blood. It drooled out thick and frothy, spilling messily down his chin.

Brenda couldn't help but scream. And scream and scream.

He clawed at his face wildly with his fingers; nails leaving deep, irregular gouges of torn flesh and fresh blood in their wake. He arched his head back as far as it could go. Veins, arteries and tendons in his neck stood out under the pale skin in a disgusting, almost unreal kind of way. Seeing how the blood dribbled down the ashen skin made her stomach roll in nausea amidst her screams.

Falling forward to his hands, he began to vomit up blood with disturbing frequency. His eyes almost looked like they were bulging out of his skull; the whites of them completely consumed with gruesome red. The boy's once-handsome face was now nothing more than a swollen, crimson deathmask. The garbled, mangled scream he had managed before collapsing to the deck would be one more source of more nightmares for her.

Giving a final death-rattle, he dropped lifelessly to the blood-spattered metal under him. His body twitched once, then twice more before twitching one last time. After that, the amber-eyed teen was silent and motionless. The bright red lights atop his bloodstained PISCES collar slowly faded until they were completely dark.

Brenda stared at the boy's unmoving form in blank-minded terror, body shivering hard.

He was still, so…still. Was he really…? Could he be…? Was he…dead? Had she just watched someone…die?

After a moment or two, realization of the full and horrific truth dawned.

She took two, shuddering breaths before her eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she passed out; falling to the cool metal deck in a limp heap.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1st AMERICAN BLITZ**_

Rochelle Meyers has been best friends with Holly Mathis since they were in kindergarten. She has stood by her side through thick and thin, even after puberty was much more favorable to her than it was to Holly. She has been her friend, older sister figure and her confidant; knowing things about the girl that few others do – including Holly's own mother. Rochelle had vowed never to let anything change that relationship.

But things _have_ changed, in a much more disturbing and horrifying way than she thought possible. Despite that, Rochelle finds herself hurtling headlong into the dangers precipitated by 'the Blitz'; risking injury and death in a desperate attempt to find Holly. Unaware that 'the Blitz' has just claimed its first victim, she continues her frantic search for her friend; a girl who's frailty and delicate nature will make her an easy target to those playing 'the Game'.

**Coming soon, "A Reason to Fight",**

**Chapter 14 of **_**1st AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Brenda Hughes. One half of the 'Pampered Princess Duo'. Alisia Benetti's BFF and general thorn-in-the-side of both Nick Lang and Vikki Shaw, she is seen by many readers as the spoiled 'princess bee' to Alisia's 'queen'. Yet, in this chapter, you find out that Brenda's rise to the top and eventual befriending of Alisia was not by any means easy.

Believe it or not, I actually _like_ Brenda. Why? I don't know. There's something about her personality that clicked with me when I was writing up her flashback.

When we first see Brenda in Alisia's chapter during the flashback and in Nick's chapter while in the office together, it was so easy to assume that she was the stereotypical 'mean rich girl'. Though she didn't come across quite as cruel or hateful as Alisia, she still showed a very brusque side to Nick in her feelings towards Vikki Shaw. All she showed was absolute loyalty to 'Lisi'. In truth, Brenda Hughes seemed no more than the proverbial sidekick to the much more socially powerful Alisia Benetti.

Appearances are sometimes _very_ deceiving.

Brenda Hughes, as it turns out, is a much more complex character than at first believed. Not only that, it turns out that she is actually much higher on the social ladder than her current BFF is; coming from an 'old money' family. Or at least, was. A fallen socialite with family problems and a former BFF obsessed with burying her. Brenda is _anything_ but simple.

Here's a funny fact. In the original storyline for _**1st American Blitz**_, Brenda was a manipulative bitch who bullied Alisia (named 'Alice Bennet' at the time) and used their friendship to get everything she wanted. She was also a teen runaway who came to New York and became a prostitute to support herself. She enrolled at the same school chosen to be the first used in 'the Blitz' (at that time, all the students came from the same school), immediately choosing out Alice as her mark. During that storyline's 'Blitz', she formed an alliance with two Hispanic gangbangers by offering up sex in exchange for safety and protection. When Alice refused, Brenda became psychotic and forced her to have sex with one of the boys under a threat of death. Later, Alice and the other boy attempt to escape. They are discovered and Brenda has her companion kill the other boy, injuring Alice at the same time. However, Alice manages to escape and Brenda spends the rest of the story trying to hunt her down. Suffice it to say, it doesn't end well for either of them. But that was another time and another story.

One so cliché-ridden and unobjectively retarded that I decided to scrap the entire thing and start all over. And _that_ Brenda Hughes has very little in common with _this_ Brenda Hughes.

So, in the end, what really lies under all that tanning and designer clothing? What's the true reason of her near obsessive loyalty to Alisia Benetti, a girl that should be riding on _her_ social coattails? And will that undying loyalty to Alisia be the ultimate cause of her downfall during 'the Blitz'?

All I can say is stay tuned!

Enjoy the new chapter!

Ciao!

Terryll

PS. To avoid character confusion and having to wait forever and a day for the next chapter or so to see who the two boys showcased here were; they were _**Boys, No. 02 Robert 'Bobby' Cheveyo**_ (dark-skinned, long-haired boy) and _**Boys, No. 06 Trevor Gates**_ (amber-eyed boy, the attempted rapist). Guess which one is now deader than a doornail?

PPS. Please excuse the 'adverb hell' near the end of this chapter. I was kind of excited to be writing my first death and got a little carried away. I'll probably edit it at a later date.


	20. A Reason to Fight

**1****st**** AMERICAN BLITZ**

**CHAPTER 14**

* * *

**Girls, No. 10**

**Rochelle Meyers**

**"A Reason to Fight"**

* * *

"Why the hell did _you_ help me?" the girl sitting across from her grunted sourly.

Rochelle looked down at the bitter expression on the pale face of the last girl she wanted to have anything to do with on the oil rig. Injured or not, she was already showing herself to be a pain in the ass. Not that Rochelle expected any less from her.

Content to risk her own safety, she'd decided early on to make her goal finding her friend Holly. The speed in which she had managed to clear through and leave the Quarters Module to look for her was somewhat surprising. Even though she had quit the track team some time ago in favor of focusing on volleyball, Rochelle was still very quick on her feet. That speed served her well as she had spent the better part of her time away from the Module searching a small portion of the platform, section by section, for a friend closer to her than a sister.

The blond-haired girl slouched against the opposite wall didn't even qualify as an acquaintance. Most of the time, Misty Greer barely qualified as a human being. Finding _her_ instead of Holly had been a bit of a blow.

But even with the animosity that existed between them, she couldn't just leave the girl lying half-dead where she'd found her – in one of the rig's many machine alleys. The small puddle of blood building around that injured arm when she'd happened upon her showed just how little Misty knew about bandaging a wound. If she had left her there, the girl would've more than likely bled to death. And that was only if the person who'd injured her in the first place didn't come back to finish the job.

That was something else that Rochelle couldn't believe. The fact that one of the other students was already caught up in the craziness of the insane Japanese death game and willing to go that far. It was something she was still finding hard to accept. Even with the obvious nature of Misty's injury – the torn flesh on her arm definitely hadn't been caused by a fall or coming in contact with some rough part of the rig's superstructure – she had a difficult time imagining that any of the students in that briefing room could do something like that. Well, there were a few who looked intimidating enough to. Even so, the whole thought of it just seemed very wrong to her.

She knew, without a doubt, that her participation in 'the Blitz' would be limited to self-defense and nothing more. Just the idea of killing someone, of committing cold-blooded murder, was something that her mind refused to process. It just wasn't in her nature to be that cruel. And that frightened her, along with everything else set in motion to happen by their captors.

The situation she was in demanded for her to be ruthless and aggressive; like she was out on the court. But even there, Rochelle always tempered those feelings with sportsmanship and compassion. In a way, it was how she was so much like Misty Greer and at the same time, nothing like her. They were both fierce on the court and driven by a desire to win. But where she knew when to draw the line, when to admit defeat and accept the loss; Misty didn't.

Rochelle was dedicated to the win, not obsessed with it. She couldn't just turn off her emotions and hurt others knowingly like the girl across from seemed to be able to. Nor could she see other people as objects to be stepped on and crushed underfoot. Her grandmother had raised her better than that.

And because she was trapped in some crazy death game; that was what scared her the most.

"I _could've_ just left you for dead," Rochelle answered with a sigh, trying to shrug off the complicated thoughts bumping around in her head.

"Go fuck yourself, Rochelle," Misty hissed, injured arm jerking the makeshift sling it was in. She immediately winced afterward. "I…I didn't _need_ your goddamned help!"

Giving the short-haired blonde a cool glance from her spot against the opposite wall, Rochelle folded her long arms across her chest with an aggravated growl. "No, I guess you didn't," she snapped back. "Because I'm sure being passed out in an alley and _bleeding_ to death was all just a part of your winning strategy! God, why do you have to be such an ass? Look at you! You're barely strong enough sit up straight! You should be _glad_ I dragged you back here! Why the hell do you have to be so fucking _bullheaded_ about everything?"

She watched as Misty leaned her head back against the wall and stared up toward the high ceiling of the large space that they were in.

"Because being stuck with a loser like _you_ is just going to get me killed," she replied in a weak, angry voice; never bringing her eyes back down to face Rochelle. "I'd be better off on my own!"

Pulling short of walking over and slapping the girl, Rochelle reigned in her feelings. Arguing with Misty wouldn't get her anywhere. She was aware of how stubborn the girl could be from all the time they'd spent practicing, playing and traveling together. Yelling at her was like yelling at a brick wall.

Yet, she had also learned something else from all that time spent together with Misty. How determined the girl could be; especially where winning was concerned. It was something that kept her very on-guard around the girl despite her injured state. And that made being around Misty even more difficult than it should have been, though it wasn't the only thing.

As much as she hated to think it, as long as she kept company with the girl there was a real risk that she'd turn on her somewhere down the road. For Misty, winning wasn't just a desire; it was a total obsession. She put it before everything and everyone, making the sole focus of her life. With that in mind, Rochelle knew that the girl wasn't just going to be a burden to her hunt for Holly; she was also going to be a potential threat. A potential threat that could get her killed if she wasn't careful.

She knew well that she wasn't imagining the girl's danger. She'd known Misty too long to doubt her feelings. Mixing a competition of any kind – no matter how depraved it was – where only one person could be the winner together with Misty Greer was something that spelled nothing but trouble. It was like pouring grease on a fire.

Because of that, Rochelle was at an impasse. Leaving Misty injured and alone was dangerous; possibly leading to her death. But then, so was keeping the girl by her side. She just couldn't trust that Misty wasn't going to turn on her at some point if they continued on together, her arm injury aside. Blood loss or not, the blond wouldn't stay weak forever. Leaving her behind was the only way to ensure that she wouldn't have to be looking over her shoulder while she searched for Holly. _Both_ were options that went against her better judgment; the former going against everything her grandmother had raised her to respect, against her personal ethics and morals.

Add to that the unresolved issues between the two of them and it made the decision she had to make tougher than it should have been.

"You're about one of the dumbest bitches I've ever met, Misty," she countered finally. Rochelle wanted to stall making that decision for as long as she could. But she couldn't do so for too long. Holly was still out there somewhere and she had to find her before some panicked student with a gun did. Or worse, the one who had injured Misty. She only hoped she hadn't wasted too much time dealing with the ungrateful girl in front of her. "If your arm is an example of how much better you'd be 'on your own', then maybe I should've just left you where I found you!"

"Maybe you should've," Misty returned sharply, dropping her gaze to stare straight into Rochelle's brown eyes. Her voice was no stronger than before but it was full of defiance and contempt. "Like I said, I _didn't_ need your help!"

Jerking from the wall in frustration, Rochelle glared hard at the other girl.

"For fuck's sake, Misty! This _isn't_ a game!" she yelled, pulling an arm quickly away from her chest to point a finger down at the sling made from the girl's t-shirt. "You got lucky that you just ended up with _that_! Just how stupid _are_ you?"

Misty gave her a tired grin. It was anything but genuine. "No dumber than you for helping me, _Ro_."

For a second time, she felt a strong urge to slap the girl. Again, she resisted it. Misty was deliberately trying to antagonize her, trying to force her into a decision she didn't really want to make. For the girl to stoop to using Holly's nickname for her, when she knew how desperate she was to find her, was low even for Misty. She definitely still knew how to push her buttons. Apparently, _that_ hadn't changed. It was making the decision to abandon the girl easier and easier to bear.

But instead of allowing herself to be dragged back into the same tired argument, Rochelle choked down her anger and walked over to where Misty was sitting. The blond stared up at her with weary but defiant eyes, yet shied away noticeably when she crouched down in front of her. Not that she blamed her one bit for doing so.

Even though Rochelle knew that most of what Misty had been saying was no act, she also knew that the girl was shaken and scared by what had happened to her. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she woke up and saw her arm being bandaged. She didn't relax when she realized it was her doing it. "Look," she began, reaching over to gently grip Misty by the shoulders, "I know we haven't exactly been on the best of terms, but you've _gotta_ see reason. This is real. It's not a game you can win, Misty. If you lose here, you don't get to go home and bitch about it or punch a locker or yell at us for screwing up. You… You'll… You'll die. Can't you understand that?"

She watched as Misty averted her gaze and gave an uncharacteristic sigh.

"You don't think I _know_ that?" she muttered, good arm slowly rising to finger the makeshift sling. "I've already been shot at, injured and almost died from losing too much blood. If…if you hadn't found me when you did… I…" Misty shook her head as if clearing her thoughts and then turned to face Rochelle again. "Look, I… I appreciate the bandage and everything. But you have to understand something. I…I _can't_ be a loser. E…Even here! I can't go down without putting up a fight! That's just how I am!"

"Misty, I know how –"

"Don't pretend like you understand me!" she interrupted, expression becoming furious. "You don't…and _never_ did!"

Surprised when she felt the shove, Rochelle fell to the metal flooring with wide eyes. She wanted to say something but couldn't; only watching as the girl struggled to rise from her place against the wall. What more could she do? What more could she say? Misty Greer was as stubborn as they came. And it was that same stubbornness, along with her fixation on winning, which had ended their friendship almost three years earlier.

A moment later, the blond stumbled to her feet and fell back against the wall. Her face looked even paler than before. Placing a hand to her head, she gave it a light shake before glaring down at Rochelle. "Wh…where did you put…my stuff?"

"Come on, Misty. At least wait until you get your strength –"

"I said…where is it!"

Momentarily taken aback by the angry tone in the girl's voice, Rochelle locked eyes with her former friend. At first, she wasn't going to tell her anything. It wasn't like Misty had the strength to stand up to her if she decided to get serious about keeping her there. But she just couldn't shake the feeling that the girl would turn on her. Misty's desire to win made her too dangerous to trust. And too uncomfortable to be around.

"You're GPS is still in your pocket," she relented with a sigh, pushing up from the deck. "Your canteen is over next to mine. I… I didn't find your…envelope."

"I… I already…used it," the girl grunted.

It was more than obvious to Rochelle that she was in pain and still too weak to be moving around. But she held her objections and said nothing. There was no point in arguing with someone who wasn't going to listen. Misty Greer was bound and determined to see this craziness through to the end, whether it killed her or not. And nothing was going to get in the way of that.

Anything to win.

"I tore it…up." Misty continued, taking a few quick breaths. "Left it in…an office."

"Oh," was all she replied with.

The other girl didn't say anything else as she braced against the wall and began a slow, unsteady walk down the throughway toward the canteens and other items. Returning to her earlier position against the wall, Rochelle folded her arms across her chest and regarded the girl with a guarded stare. _I can't believe she's so serious about this shit,_ she thought. _It's almost like she doesn't care that she could die! How could winning something mean that much to her? Why can't she see how much I still care about her?_

She watched as Misty took a few careful steps away from the wall she was using as support, grew dizzy and stumbled back against it. _I shouldn't even be worried about her in the first place with Holly still out there somewhere, _she mulled_. That's where I should be; out there looking for her. Not babysitting some idiot who doesn't care about her own life! I know what's more important to me and it's not looking after someone who'll probably stab me in the back the first chance she gets. I'm sorry Misty but you forced me into this._

With those thoughts, she made her decision.

Uncrossing her arms and pulling away from the wall, she walked down the throughway toward Misty. At the sound of her footfalls, the girl swung around in a hasty set of movements that almost threw her back onto the floor. "You… Are you trying to…sneak up on –?"

"Shutup, Misty!" Rochelle cut in forcibly. "What I'm _trying_ to do is save your life! But since you won't let me, I… You didn't… I…I'm gonna leave you here. I don't… I don't have a choice. I've wasted enough time fucking around with you; time that I could've spent looking for Holly. _She's_ the one who needs me, not _you_."

"Took you…that long…to…figure that out?" the girl grumbled behind her.

Reaching the pile of items, Rochelle kneeled down and grabbed up her canteen. "Yeah," she returned, brushing away the mini-braids that had fallen into her vision after slinging the canteen strap across her chest. "It took me _that_ long to figure out that you don't give a shit about yourself. Or the people that try to help you."

"Fuck you!" Misty bit out.

Ignoring the angry words for a few seconds, she picked up her GPS and then reluctantly took hold of the blue and gray pipe wrench that she found in her weapon chest. "No, fuck _you_!" she hollered in response after rising from the deck. Turning to face the girl hugging the wall to keep from slumping back down to it, she continued with, "Fuck you for being too stupid to realize that there are people who _still_ care about you! Goddammit Misty, you were my _best_ fucking friend! And even with all the shit that's happened between us, did you _really_ think that I wanted to see you die? Why the hell do you think I dragged your sorry ass all the way back _here_?"

For a moment, just a moment, she thought she could see some genuine emotion show on the blonde's ashen face. A brief look of surprise and maybe even…sadness. And then it was gone; covered by that usual snide and callous expression that meant the girl had shut the door on her feelings. Rochelle couldn't help but feel a dull pain stabbing her in the heart.

"B-Because…you're _weak_," Misty replied, pain breaking her furious words. "You've _always_ been…weak! Too weak…to do what was…needed! You… You could've been…the best out there! _We_ could've…been the center of…of a team that _no_ one could beat! But you…let your stupid feelings get…get in the way of _everything_!" Pausing to wince after taking a deep breath, she continued. "You always…put everyone _else's_ needs…ahead of yours! Ahead of _me_! _Winning_ never…mattered to…you! And… And neither did I!"

Rochelle's eyes narrowed as she responded. "You _did_ matter to me! But you were so blinded by your obsession with winning that you couldn't see it! _You_ pushed _me_ away! You were the one who closed me out and cut off our friendship! All so you could focus on winning! Just like now!"

Misty opened her mouth to say something else but she cut her off. "No, I'm through with you! I gave you a chance but you threw it back in my face! Holly needs me…" Rochelle turned and began to walk away before finishing with, "…unlike you."

She didn't hear anything else come out of the girl's mouth. It was a long, quiet march to the end of the throughway. She was full of a mixture of emotions; anger, sadness, loss, fear and a few others jumbled together incoherently in her heart. She couldn't lie to herself anymore.

She missed Misty.

She missed their friendship more than anything else. All the good times they'd had together before that obsession with winning stole her away. But that part of her life was over with now. Nothing proved that more than what had just happened. It was time for her to finally move on and accept the harsh truth.

That her friend, Misty Greer, was already dead.

Reaching the end of the throughway, she took a quick peek to both the left and right. It let out into what seemed to be a large storage bay. And much like when she'd first arrived with that injured idiot behind her, it was empty. Or at least seemed that way. It was too vast for her to know for sure.

Hesitating, she took a quick look behind her. Misty was no longer where she'd been. She was now slowly moving in the opposite direction, still hugging the wall for support. The canteen was slung across the girl's torso. The skin on her back looked just as pale as it had on her face, the sweat and her navy blue sports bra making it appear even pastier. She just shook her head and muttered, "Hardheaded fool."

Shutting Misty out of her mind, Rochelle returned her attention to the wide space of the storage bay again. She no longer had the time to worry about the girl. She'd given Misty what little help she could. Like her grandmother often said, 'she had made her bed now she had to lie in it'.

Hoping that no one was lurking in the shadows created by the yellowish light from overhead, she stepped out of the throughway. It was time for her to focus everything on finding Holly. With the time she'd wasted with Misty, if she found her friend dead she would never be able to forgive herself.

Gripping the pipe wrench tight, she took quiet and careful steps away from the white-lighted throughway. Try as she might, she couldn't mask the sound of her tennis shoes striking against the metal. It almost seemed to echo all around her, with every step she took becoming louder and louder in her ears. It was so nerve-wracking that she almost stopped to take off her shoes but thought better of it after taking a deep, calming breath.

In truth, she wasn't sure _how_ worried she should be. With all the shouting and yelling that she and Misty had done, anyone hiding in the warehouse would've – _should_ have – been drawn to them like a moth to flame. The fact that no one show up to investigate or attack only left her scratching her head. What should she expect? The space was large enough to hide all twenty-nine of the students dragged to the rig against their will and probably Omatsu and her soldiers. Two or three people concealed in its dark corners would be nothing to keep hidden and out of sight. And that made the answer to her question all the more obvious.

She should _definitely_ be worried.

The illumination from the overhead fixtures cast an eerie yellow glow across the length of the wide space. A slight breeze rolled off the ocean and crept through the huge bay door. She shivered slightly; her sweaty body, damp mid-riff t-shirt and jeans making the air colder than it probably was. But that was fine with her. The relief she felt was as welcome as it was chilling.

Too bad it couldn't sooth her unease.

She tried to put it out of her mind; she tried to focus on finding Holly. But the loud arguing with Misty had her fearful that she'd drawn unwanted attention to herself and – in retrospect – her once-friend. She just couldn't shake that feeling now. It felt like it was the only thing on her mind besides Holly. Funny how, at the time, she hadn't really given a damn about how loud she was. Did regrets _always_ have to come after the fact?

Rochelle paused in her steps to gaze out the bay door. The sun had set completely and night was fast approaching. The sky was a dark canvas streaked with reds, purples and oranges where it met the ocean. The sea itself rippled with numerous, multi-hued sparkles of reflected colors sprinkled across the murky gray depths. Despite the threats surrounding her, she had to admit that it was a beautiful sight. But it was also a distraction; one that could get her killed.

Resuming her walk through the open floor of the storage bay, she quickened her pace just short of running. She had to find Holly. There was no telling what could be happening to her friend; out there all alone and being stalked by those who meant her nothing but harm.

The huge bay door loomed before her. She knew passing through it would be a double-edged sword. On the one hand, she could continue her search for Holly and maybe find her before something terrible happened. On the other, she would once again be exposing herself to the eminent dangers of panicked students who – like her – had decided to arm themselves. She was sure that some did for the same reasons as her. To protect those they loved and cared about.

But those weren't the ones that worried her.

It was the others, the ones who had decided that making it back home was worth killing for. Like the one who'd attacked and almost killed Misty. Those were the ones she had to watch out for. Those were the ones she had to protect Holly from. The ones who only cared about themselves and no one else.

They were the ones that Misty Greer would grow to resemble.

Rochelle shoved the image of the girl's face from her mind again. Just thinking of her, about their argument before parting ways, made her blood boil. And her heart hurt. Would she ever see Misty again? And if she did, would the girl try to kill her? She had pretty much confirmed that she had a reason to fight, a reason to commit senseless murder in the name of being the one to go home at the end of this insanity.

And that was to win.

The thought of Misty's warped ideals twisted her insides in ways that made her feel like she was going to vomit. Having a reason to fight was nothing new to her. It was all she'd done for most of her life. Everything she had achieved was because she'd fought for it. Her academic scores, her friends, her place on the track – and later, volleyball – team, her boyfriend; all of that Rochelle had struggled and fought for. In some cases, she'd fought tooth and nail to get what she had. So it didn't bother her to get her hands dirty if she needed to.

But _this_ was different.

Fighting was one thing. But what they were being forced into here was nothing more than a sick bloodsport! Most of the students kidnapped along with her couldn't have been anything more than sixteen years old! Sixteen! And she _didn't_ want to dwell on how old the youngest brought to the platform were. It sickened her to think that Holly had just had her fifteenth birthday only two and a half months ago. Her own sixteenth was still almost five months away!

What kind of monsters had her country voted into office who would be willing to unleash something this terrible on their own children?

Trying not to think on it anymore than she had to, Rochelle refocused her attention on her surroundings. Arriving at the bay door, she crossed quickly past the large opening to the other side and took a moment to gather her thoughts before exiting. Leaning against the interior wall blocked by the huge metal arch that fashioned the 'doorframe' of the entranceway, she tightened her grip on the pipe wrench and reached into her pocket to pull out the GPS.

She'd committed the places on the rig she had already checked for Holly to the small handheld's memory. There were still so many more places for her to look. It was almost overwhelming to know that she had searched through such a small portion of the platform. But she also knew that she had to keep going. Holly's life was at risk and she couldn't just sit on her ass and let her be killed.

That was _her_ reason to fight.

Raising the GPS, Rochelle was about to take it out of 'sleep mode' and set a new location point when she heard a low voice from somewhere amidst the machinery and crates in front of her whisper, "M-Maddie? Is… Is that –?"

If it hadn't been for the lack of wind in her ears, she wouldn't have even heard the shaky words. Shoving the GPS back into her pocket, she raised the pipe wrench up defensively and turned in the direction the words seemed to have come from. The words had ended too abruptly for her to get a general idea of where they were coming from but she knew she didn't just imagine hearing them. She also could've sworn she saw something moving in the darkness just outside of eyeshot.

She pressed back against the wall as far as she could go. They must have seen her, whoever they were. Why would they have spoken otherwise? Her heart began to beat faster in her chest as her breath quickened. Where were they hiding? The yellowish light that bathed everything in the storage bay in its eerie glow wasn't helping to spot whoever had spoken out. What were they waiting for?

Her palms were already becoming slick with sweat, forcing her to readjust her grip on the wrench so that it wouldn't slip if she had to use it. She hoped more than anything that it didn't come to that. But she would do what she had to keep herself safe and unharmed. Any wound she received would only make it that much harder to find Holly.

She didn't move from her spot against the wall. She didn't say anything either. The voice may have been whispering but that didn't mean it couldn't be a lure into a trap. As she was coming to realize after her encounter with Misty, 'the Blitz' was slowly changing the students trapped in it. And that meant that she couldn't trust anyone but those she already knew and trusted; excluding her former friend.

She strained her ears, listening for anything else that might tip her off to where whoever had whispered was hiding. But all she heard was the low whistle of the wind as it passed through the bay door entryway and the masked hum of the platform's engines. Plus the high stacks of wooden crates and piles of large machine parts were making it hard to spot anyone who might be moving among them. She remained still for a moment more before deciding to move away from the wall…and toward the bay door threshold.

Rochelle wasn't a coward but she also wasn't stupid. Walking into those patches of pale yellow light and dark to search for a voice she didn't even hear anymore in that maze of crates and machinery was a good way to get killed. Besides, she'd already wasted enough time with Misty and every second she hesitated was a second Holly moved closer to injury…or worse. It was in her nature to help people who needed the help. It _wasn't_ in her nature to walk into a possible deathtrap.

Backing carefully toward the large opening, eyes scanning the splotches of light and dark in front of her for any hint of movement, she edged her way around the protruding archway that framed the bay door opening. She sighed in weary relief when the breezy sound of the wind and muted noise from the ocean began to fill her ears again.

But the relief didn't last long.

There was a sharp intake of breath behind her and then the sound of numerous plastic packages hitting the metal deck. That was followed by footsteps slamming against the deck and they were accompanied by a shrill scream. Rochelle turned at the noise and was quick to drop to the floor to avoid the heavy piece of wood being swung at her head. The would-be attack missed her by inches, cracking loud against the protruding arch framing the door.

"Shit!" she yelled, panicked, backpedaling away from wide threshold. The pipe wrench still held in her grip dragging raucously along the deck. The entire bay echoed with a wood-striking-metal noise after the object had struck the archway. Anyone else who was in the area would hear it. But that was the least of her worries now.

Clamoring back to her feet, Rochelle held the pipe wrench in front of her with both hands. There was barely time for her to do that. Her attacker came at her again. This time, she jumped back to avoid the wooden weapon being aimed at her midsection. Apparently miscalculating the weight of the wood, the person swinging it stumbled around awkwardly because of the misdirected momentum. That was when she noticed it was a girl.

"Who… Who the _fuck_ are you?" the girl hollered as she righted herself and aimed the blunt end of the long piece of wood back in her direction. "What the _hell_ did you do to my brother?"

"I…I didn't do _shit_ to your brother," Rochelle returned in anger, slowly trying to circle around to where her back was facing the bay door threshold. "I don't even know what the fuck you're talking about!"

"Lying bitch!" the girl screeched. She jumped back again to avoid another wild swing. The momentum created by the heavy piece of wood left a slight whistle in the air as the girl was thrown off balance once more. Seeing an opening, Rochelle rushed the girl before she could steady herself. Dropping her pipe wrench, she grabbed the other end of what looked like an ax handle and tried to yank it out of her hands. Surprisingly, the girl held on and tried to yank it back. Rochelle yanked on it again and then, without warning, shoved it back toward the girl when she tried to take it back.

The other end of the ax handle struck her hard in the stomach. She let out an abrupt sound that was part exhale and part scream, released the heavy piece of wood and fell back to the metal deck. Much like she had after her initial attack, the girl tried to backpedal away. Rochelle took a step toward her and raised the ax handle above her head. The girl quickly threw her arms over her head and fell back to the deck in a cowering heap.

"Just…just stay right there!" she threatened, backing away from the girl and returning to where she'd dropped her wrench. "Don't you even _think_ about moving or I swear to God I'll…I'll split your fucking head wide open!" She had no intention of doing anything of the sort. Rochelle knew her threat was as empty as the wind flowing through the large doorway. But she was sure the brown-haired girl didn't know that.

Feeling her foot strike the wrench, she stooped down to pick it up; not taking her eyes off of the girl cringing in front of her. As her fingers found the lukewarm metal handle, she heard a quick shuffling of footsteps and then a _clicking_ sound.

"D-Don't move or…or I'll shoot!"

She froze.

"What… What did you do to my sister?"

She swallowed hard. "I…I didn't do anything to her! She attacked me first! I was just defending myself!"

"You're fucking lying!"

"No I'm not!"

"Then why's she…why's she _still_ on the ground?"

"Fuck if I know! Why don't you ask _her_ instead of drilling _me_?" she shouted back.

But his question made her mind whirl. Why _was_ the girl still lying on the floor? She'd only hit her hard enough to throw her down to the deck and maybe knock the wind out of her. But nothing more than that. She wasn't _trying_ for anymore than that! All she wanted to do was stun the girl long enough for her to get away.

The person behind her – the brother the girl had been screaming about earlier, she assumed – said nothing. Rochelle went cold. Did he believe her? Or did he think she had injured his sister? Her heart pounded so hard she almost believed she could hear it echoing in her ears. For a moment, she thought he was going to pull the trigger. She was so scared, she could barely think straight. When he called out to the girl, Rochelle just about collapsed to the deck in relief.

"Maddie?" she heard him question. "Madelyn! Are… Are you okay?"

The girl still didn't respond and Rochelle's heart nearly skipped a beat. She didn't know how close the siblings were but from the way the girl had attacked, she could only assume that they were close enough for it to be bad news for her. That meant if the other girl didn't pull herself up from the floor soon, she might end up on the wrong side of a pissed off brother holding a gun. This entire thing couldn't have gone any worse.

But before the boy could say or do anything to her, the brown-haired girl slowly lowered her arms from around her head. Pushing up from the filthy deck and rising part way, she cast an angry but frightened glance at her before gasping, "Y-Yeah, she just…knocked the wind out…of me. That's…all."

She could hear the boy breath a deep sigh of relief. Not that she wasn't too far behind him in doing the exact same thing. "Alright," Rochelle said in as calm a voice as she could afterwards, "you know your sister's okay. No harm done. Now how about you let me go?"

"Throw my sister back her weapon first," was all she got in response.

She frowned at the order. That was something that she didn't want to do, especially not after that threat that she'd made to the girl to keep her from getting back up to run away. There was nothing that said the girl wouldn't try to retaliate to the threat by using it to beat her senseless after she got it back. But with a gun pointed at her back, did she really have any other choice? Plus, this entire situation was only wasting more time that she didn't have. She needed to end this and end it now.

Lowering her arm, Rochelle tossed the ax handle over to where the girl was still lying on the deck. It struck with a solid sound and bounced over to her, the noise it made echoed loudly through the storage bay. The ax handle landed just out of the girl's reach. Hopefully that wouldn't be a problem. "Okay," she replied in a level voice, "your sister has her weapon back. Can I go _now_?"

"N-No," the girl, Maddie, answered instead, weakly reaching out for the ax handle. "How do…we know you…won't just come…back?"

"How many times do I have to say this? _You_ attacked _me_. I was just defending myself."

"That's…that's not how it looked to _me_!" Maddie's brother yelled out from behind.

"Well, that's what it was," she shot back. "She _could've_ killed me! If I hadn't ducked when I did, she might have hit me in the head with that damned thing!"

Maddie scowled in her direction. "How'd you _expect_ me to react," she yelled.

"Like someone with a brain!" she hollered back. "Like someone who wasn't buying into all this bullshit! Were you really willing to _kill_ me over a misunderstanding?"

The answer Maddie gave sent a chill racing up her spine. "If… If it meant keeping my brother safe...yes. I…I'll do…what I have to."

Rochelle's eyes widened. Was everyone losing their minds already? She had meant absolutely no harm to Maddie's brother but the girl was still willing to crack her head open just because she _thought_ she had! This was worse than she'd thought. With all the panic and paranoia being generated already, there was no doubt in her mind that soon everybody on the rig would be at each other's throats. And that meant…

She had to get out of there and she had to get out of there _now_!

She usually hated acting without a plan but she had no time left. Holly could be in serious trouble already. Gripping the pipe wrench, Rochelle launched into a full run from her crouched position. It was something that neither Maddie nor her brother expected. She could see the horrified expression on the brown-haired girl's face. It was obvious that Maddie thought she was coming after her.

"Sh-Shoot her," the girl shrieked at her brother. "_SHOOT HER!_"

Rochelle didn't pause to see if the boy behind her was complying with his sister's terrified demands. All she was focused on was that bay door. And reaching it. Maddie wasn't even an afterthought.

She rushed past the cowering girl and raced toward the opening. The first shot rang out and struck against the metal archway with a brief spark. The gunshot reverberated through the storage bay. She flinched on instinct but kept running. Another shot filled the air and slammed into the metal deck a few feet away. But she still didn't stop. She couldn't stop, not until she reached Holly.

Before a third shot could be fired, Rochelle crossed the threshold and immediately leapt to the side. She landed hard against the deck but was quick to push back up to her feet. She didn't hear any other gunshots or signs of pursuit, yet that didn't stop her from breaking out into a full sprint. Everything flashed by in a blur as she picked up speed.

She should've learned her lesson with Misty. The girl's reaction to her pleas not to participate should've been her first clue of what to expect; not just from her but everyone involved. But she was too blinded by her failure to reach Misty through their past friendship to accept it. It took Maddie's desire to protect her brother being twisted in the most horrible of ways to wake her up to the truth; that this 'game' could corrupt even the purest of motives. No one was immune from the diseased touch of 'the Blitz'. No matter how wholesome your reasons were for fighting, their kidnappers had designed a depraved 'game' that would use them against you. Through them, 'the Blitz' would slowly turn you into a heartless killer.

As much as that thought disgusted her, she knew what it ultimately meant. From this point out, she couldn't trust anyone else but Holly. And she had to find the girl before the sickness of the 'game' managed to infect her somehow. With that idiot giving in to her obsession, Holly was all Rochelle had left and she'd be damned if she would let the unholy hell she was in steal her away like it had Misty.

But even as she continued to run, a chilling fear settled somewhere in the back of her mind. She wanted to protect Holly just as much as that Maddie girl had wanted to protect her brother. That begged a question. What would stop _her_ from going that far? Could her morals and ethics hold the taint of 'the Blitz' at bay? Or would she succumb, be pushed to the same extreme as Maddie had? Would she be willing to kill to keep what was precious to her safe from harm?

Rochelle suddenly found herself hoping, with all the faith her grandmother had given her, that she didn't fall prey to the sickness as well.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

Three students. Three different viewpoints. Three lives with stories to tell. Three stories that can end in the blink of an eye.

This is _Dramatis Personae_…

Eddy Escobar has been beaten down and abused since the beginning of 'the Blitz'. Finally finding refuge, his situation takes a turn for the worst. But as bad as things are, they're about to get worse…

Derrick Thomas's past has been revealed to the students of 'the Blitz' by Omatsu Reiko. He knows that a target has been painted on his back and no one will trust him. But this setback is the least of his concerns…

Holly Mathis has fled in fear from the horrors of 'the Blitz'. She waits alone, hidden in plain sight, for her best friend to find her. But while shadows twist the light around her, something even darker begins to fray her mind…

* * *

**Coming soon, "Overture",**

_**Dramatis Personae**_** of **_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Rochelle Meyers was a character I mulled over quite a bit. I knew from the beginning I wanted her to be Holly Mathis's friend and confidant. I also knew that I wanted her to be a rival to Misty Greer. Unfortunately, I _didn't_ know how to integrate her into the story. Her first appearance, being in Nick Lang's chapter, worried me. She came across as a Takako Chigusa wannabe; especially with the way I described the speed in which she was running.

After I read that, I knew I'd hit a brick wall with her.

Holly's friend, that's what Rochelle was fast turning into. Well that and the Black-American version of Chigusa. I was at a loss at what to do with her. Oh I had a storyline planned for her, but I had no idea of how to characterize her. Oddly enough, and after many jumpstarts, I found the answer of how to do so with none other than Misty Greer.

The decision to make them former best friends came later. But it didn't stop me from using Misty's appearance as a means to characterize Rochelle. As it turned out, it was a pretty good idea in the end. I finally got a feel for Rochelle and was able to design the chapter around her after Misty exited, stage left. Some of the bigger hints to her character lie in how she was raised by her grandmother and her general attitude toward Misty Greer's transformation from friend into win-obsessed bitch.

Rochelle Meyers seems very devoted to the idea of remaining 'untainted' by 'the Blitz' but seems to fear that it might be something that she eventually won't be able to overcome. Regardless, she is hell-bent on finding her current best friend Holly Mathis. However, whether she does or doesn't and what the girl's state will be if she does remains to be seen.

I wouldn't really name Rochelle as one of my favorites. But I will say that I am pleased with her introduction and characterization in this chapter. I definitely feel that she will continue to grow for however long she remains around.

Well, that's all I have to say. I hope you guys and gals enjoy the new chapter. Feel free to leave a review or critique. Or you can visit the **TV Tropes** page devoted _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_ and add some tropes of your own or just click the like button. You can find the web address on my profile page. Or you can just Google it instead.

See you laters!

PS. HAPPY EARLY B-DAY, KELLEY! HOPE YOU ENJOY!


	21. The Blitz: Update No 2 Chapters 8 To 14

**THE BLITZ: UPDATE CHAPTERS 8 - 14**

* * *

**RULES OF 'THE BLITZ':**

A) All members of the schools involved MUST kill each other until one survivor remains. B) All participants in 'the Blitz' are supplied with a ration of food (two MREs), a one quart canteen for gathering water and a GPS to aid them in navigating the 'combat zone'. Weapon distribution is left up to the whims of the current 'Blitz' supervisor. C) All students will wear the PISCES PRC-001XD (Personal Injection Selector Collared Execution System Prison Riot Control Series 001 Experimental Device), an Americanized version of the Nationalist Commonwealth's Model Guadalcanal No. 22. D) Each student will be implanted with a RFID chip to track their positions within the 'combat zone'. E) Students are free to move about the 'combat zone' but must listen for announcements (once every four hours) informing them of the participants who have been killed. F) While there is no overarching time limit (i.e. three days, two weeks, etc.), there is a 'twelve-hour kill clock' where at least one student must die within said timeframe. G) If there are no kill(s) made within that twelve-hour period of time, one of the PISCES PRC-001XDs will be chosen at random and activated.

**LOCATION OF 'THE BLITZ':**

The _Kasanagi-Eto._ It is a DrillSea East Aquarius-designed, semi-submersible offshore drilling platform in the East China Sea about 250 miles from the coast of the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan. It has a length of 382 feet and a width of 317 feet. The _Kasanagi-Eto_ has five main modules; the Process Module, the Power Module, the Quarters Module, Well-bay Module and the Drilling Module. All areas are accessible except the bridge/command deck, the floor directly beneath it and certain key areas of the platform that could cause problems if allowed to be accessed by the participants. These are locations are off-limits to the students participating in 'the Blitz'. All such areas are permanent 'Danger Zones' and any student who tries to enter them will be killed via PISCES PRC-001XD collar activation.

**SUPERVISOR OF 'THE BLITZ':**

Omatsu Reiko. She has been a Supervisor of 'the Program' for seven years; currently beginning her eighth. She has received high recommendations and numerous accolades during those years. Her current reported success rate is 96.9%. Her selection for running the initial 'American Blitz' was unanimously approved by the Imperial Diet and the MERA Committee. High and successful results are expected.

**HIGHLIGHTS AND ENCOUNTERS:**

_Chapter 8 "The True Cost of Friendship", Hallway/Office, 3__rd__ Floor:_ Nicholas Lang (Boys, No. 09) risks his own safety to wait for best friend Victoria Shaw (Girls, No. 14) on the 3rd Floor of the Quarters Module. While attempting to find a place to lay low, he realizes that the next person set to be released from the briefing room has been and is coming in his direction. Resolving to face down whomever it is, Nick readies himself for a fight only to have Brenda Hughes (Girls, No. 08) suddenly appear from one of the offices. Begging him to hurry, he ducks into the office with her just in time to avoid a confrontation. While sharing the office with Brenda, he listens to her lament over Alisia Benetti (Girls, No. 01); her best friend and a girl that he knows all too well. Attempting to convince her that she'll be okay, they end up in an argument over it that leads to Nick putting his hand over Brenda's mouth to keep her quiet so no one passing by from the briefing room will hear them. Brenda mistakes the action for Nick trying to smother her and reacts violently until he takes his hand away. Distrustful and paranoid, she yells at him about him wanting to wait for Vikki and then says that she's going to find Alisia herself. Brenda then storms out of the office, leaving Nick alone.

_Chapter 9 "Violence is Never the Answer", Hallway/Mess Hall, 3__rd__ Floor:_ Rahdi Patel (Girls, No. 11) finally has her name called and is next to leave the briefing room. Before she is pushed out of the room, Rahdi finds herself accosted by one of the soldiers; being told that because she's a Buddhist her death will hard and fast. After that, she is shoved out into the hallway and left on her own. Shaken, she quickly moves down the hallway and away from the room. Remembering what Charlene Rae Dolan (Girls, No. 04) told her, she takes out her GPS and begins a search for the floor's mess hall. She soon realizes that someone is following her and begins to run, prompting Robert McKean (Boys, No. 11) to give chase. Rahdi flees to the mess hall and hides in the kitchen while Rob taunts her during his search. Thinking she can escape, Rahdi is quickly captured by Rob who reveals his plan of using her as a pawn to control Charlie Rae. But before he can set his plan in motion; the girl in question shows up and a fight ensues which ends with Rob being knocked out cold. After a few words to each other, they leave the mess hall and the unconscious boy behind.

_Chapter 10 "A Strange Kind of Irony", South Side Stairwell, 3__rd__ Floor:_ James Turner (Boys, No. 14) and his girlfriend Leslie Thurston (Girls, No. 15) have fled from the briefing room, stopping to rest in a stairwell in order to gain their bearings. While there, Jimmy asks Leslie what's wrong only for her to retort with a sarcastic comment about their situation. They break out into a short argument that leads to Leslie crying. Calming down when he realizes that she must be scared, Jimmy tries to comfort her. Still in tears, Leslie reveals the real reason why she's crying; telling him that she's pregnant. Stunned, Jimmy has no idea of how to react. They break into another short argument when she tells him how long she's known but end it quickly. As Jimmy resolves to do anything he can to protect Leslie and their unborn child, he hears a noise just outside the door. Fearful that someone was listening to their conversation and will now be targeting his pregnant girlfriend, he grabs up Leslie and they flee down the stairs. Making it to the platform level, he and Leslie escape from the Quarters Module in search of another place to hide.

_Chapter 11 "The Best Laid Plan", Utility Room (East Side), Platform Level:_ Devoted to coming up with a plan of escape and rescuing as many as she can, Wendy Prince (Girls, No. 12) decides to approach any students she comes across while looking for her weapon, which she means to use only for defense and protection. The first student she comes across is Alisia Benetti who is so afraid and panicked that she is borderline hysterical; attempting to flee instead of listening. Trying to calm the girl after grabbing hold of her, Alisia reacts with desperation and violence until Wendy is forced to let her go. Upset by the encounter, she is still determined to continue on with her plan. By accident, she runs into Charlie Rae; who immediately raises her weapon against her. Pleading with the girl to listen to her, Charlie Rae does and then bluntly tells her the plan won't work. Losing her composure, Wendy calls her a coward which leads to a brief altercation. It ends when Wendy manages to stun Charlie Rae long enough to run away. Hidden and alone in a utility room, Wendy cries over her perceived failures as a leader; remembering the two encounters that left her in that state while the RFID Tracking Device goes off as someone else approaches her hideout.

_Chapter 12 "Who Mourns the Adonis?", Industrial Crane (West Side), Platform Level:_ While hiding in the control room of one of the massive platform cranes, Trevor Gates (Boys, No. 06) recounts his life back home. Bound by the rules and laws there, he was unable to live his life like he wished. Young and misogynistic, Trevor fancied himself as a playboy who loved to hunt after women. With his objectified view of all girls being nothing more than 'sluts' and 'whores', he sees nothing wrong with treating them in exactly that manner. He flashes back to a time when he was forced to go to a hearing for an accusation of rape because of that mindset. He also remembers, in disgusting detail, how he beat the charge by blackmailing the accuser's younger sister into getting her to drop the charges; forcing her into giving up her virginity in exchange for him not having his attorneys revealing something that could land the girl jail-time. Recalling all of that brings Trevor to the realization that he's no longer bound by any sensible rules and that he can do whatever he wants, including treating all the girls on the platform in whatever way that he saw fit. Such as using them as shields and raping them to his heart's content when they no longer served any useful purpose. After reaching that conclusion, he spots Brenda Hughes looking for a place to hide from his high vantage point. Content to wait and see where she settles in, Trevor decides to make her his first target.

_Chapter 13 "The Indian, the Princess and the Death that Came for Them", Unofficial 'Nap Room' (West Side), Platform Level:_ Brenda Hughes tries to settle into the small, shed-like room in order to keep herself hidden from those who have decided to take 'the Blitz' seriously. She attempts sleep only to be plagued relentlessly by nightmares of not only her death, but that of her best friend Alisia Benetti. Awaking with a scream, Brenda immediately realizes her mistake and tries to keep as quiet as possible afterward. Hoping that no one heard her, she becomes more and more distraught as the minutes pass by. Brenda begins to think about a time when everything in her life was in shambles. However, her thoughts are interrupted when a hard knock at the door and an unfamiliar voice confirms her worst fears. Screaming that she just wants to be left alone, she eventually flees the room out of panic; believing that whoever was banging on the door is still lurking outside waiting for her to lower her guard. While running away, she is tripped up by Trevor Gates who immediately attempts to rape her. Brenda tries to struggle back but is backhanded hard and, fearing that she'll be hit again, stops. Trevor doesn't get very far with his assault as he's attacked by Robert Cheveyo (Boys, No. 01) and pulled away from Brenda. She watches the fight between them, shaken by her near rape. Just when it looks like Bobby has the upper-hand; he gets up and runs off. Trevor recovers and limps toward her to finish what he started, not realizing that Brenda has become a MDZ. She watches in horror as Trevor's PISCES collar triggers and violently kills him. Overcome by the sight, she passes out.

_Chapter 14 "A Reason to Fight", Interior Access Throughway, Storage Bay (North Side), Platform Level:_ During her hunt to find her close friend Holly Mathis (Girls, No. 09), Rochelle Meyers (Girls, No. 10) comes across Misty Greer (Girls, No. 05). Injured earlier in her fight with Brian Addison (Boys, No. 01), she is found passed out and slowly bleeding to death. Feeling pity for the girl, Rochelle drags her back to the place she'd chosen to lay low while searching for Holly. During her bandaging Misty's shotgun wound, the girl wakes up with a fearful start which doesn't surprise Rochelle. After a few minutes of silence, the two strike up a conversation which immediately descends into an argument about why she helped Misty and the still-present grievances about a friendship they shared three years ago. At the end of it, they decide to go their separate ways; with Misty hobbling off in the opposite direction while Rochelle continues her search for Holly. Still feeling remorse for being unable to get through to her former friend, she nonetheless pushes the girl from her mind; considering her 'dead' as far as their past together is concerned. Just before she exits the storage bay, Rochelle hears someone whispering. She thinks better of investigating further, believing it to be a possible trap. Making a decision to leave, Rochelle finds herself suddenly attacked from behind. During the brief melee, the girl who attacked her – Madelyn Higgins (Girls, No. 07) – reveals that the boy is her brother and accuses Rochelle of trying to hurt him. She tells the girl that she didn't do anything to her brother. The girl calls her a liar and tries to attack her again which leads to Rochelle countering it and disarming her. Before she can do anything else, the girl's brother – Andrew Higgins (Boys, No 07) – threatens her with a gun. After a brief and bitter war of words, Rochelle makes hasty decision to run for it; barely dodging the gunshots coming from behind as she escapes the storage bay to resume her search for Holly.

**THE LIVING AND THE DEAD:**

Average Ages of Participants – Between 14 and 16 years old.

Boys: 14 – Girls: 15 – Total: 29

'The Blitz' Cover Story: Depending on school size, the top finalist (limited to four) for schools selected to participate in the 'National French Essay Contest' will get an all-expense paid trip to Paris, France.

NOTE: The 'Injured' Status only applies to open wounds, broken bones and severe lacerations that could possible impair them during the course of 'the Blitz'.

**Arizona – Red Rock High School**

**Boys**

**#1 – Brian Addison (STATUS: LOSS OF MENTAL STABILITY – MISSED REQUIRED DOASGE OF BIPOLAR MEDICATION – BUT STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#7 – Andrew "Andy" Higgins (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#6 – Karen Heiser (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**California – Santa Domingo High School**

**Boys**

**#3 – Jonathan "Jonny" Chiang (STATUS: INJURED – GUNSHOT WOUND TO THE THIGH; SUFFERING FROM POSSIBLE BLOOD LOSS – BUT STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#12 – Emilio Salazar (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

_None Selected_

**Colorado – Cold Rivers High School**

**Boys**

_#6 – Trevor Gates (STATUS: COLLAR ACTIVATION OCCURRED TWO HOURS INTO 'THE BLITZ' – TOXINS INJECTED INTO BLOODSTREAM CAUSED SEVERE INTERNAL TRAUMA TO THE CARDIOVASCULAR SYSTEM AND THE HEART ITSELF, BURSTING MAJOR ARTERIES, CAPILLARIES AND RUPTURING LUNG TISSUE; LEAVING THE VICTIM TO DROWN IN HIS OWN BLOOD – DECEASED.)_

**Girls**

**#7 – Madelyn "Maddie" Higgins (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#12 – Wendy Prince (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Florida – Bayside High School**

**Boys**

_None Selected_

**Girls**

**#5 – Misty Greer (STATUS: INJURED – GRAZING SHOTGUN WOUND TO THE UPPER ARM, SUFFERING FROM MINOR BLOOD LOSS – BUT STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#9 – Holly Mathis (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#10 – Rochelle Meyers (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**New Mexico – Bear Ridge High School**

**Boys**

**#2 – Robert "Bobby" Cheveyo (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

_None Selected_

**New York – George R. Diomatti High School**

**Boys**

**#9 – Nicholas "Nick" Lang (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#1 – Alisia "Lisi" Benetti (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#8 – Brenda Hughes (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#14 – Victoria "Vikki" Shaw (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Ohio – Erin Baker High School**

**Boys**

**#10 – Dillon Maxwell III (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#2 – JoAnne Dechon (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#3 – Sadie Dechon (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#13 – Peggy Ryman (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Oregon – Grand Terrace High School**

**Boys**

**#5 – Casey Fuller (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#14 – James "Jimmy" Turner (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#15 – Leslie Thurston (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Pennsylvania – William McHaven High School**

**Boys**

**#11 – Robert "Rob" McKean (STATUS: INJURED – ARROW TO THE RIGHT SHOULDER, LATER REMOVED LEAVING A SEVERE PUNCTURE WOUND THAT COULD LEAD TO POSSIBLE BLOOD LOSS; BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA TO THE CRANIUM, POSSIBLE CONCUSSION – SUBJECT IS CURRENTLY INCAPACITATED BUT STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#13 – Derrick Thomas (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

_None Selected_

**Texas – Walker Clemens High School**

**Boys**

**#4 – Eduardo "Eddy" Escobar (STATUS: INJURED – NOSE BROKEN; SEVERE LACERATION ACROSS BRIDGE – BUT STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#8 – LaTrey Johnson (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**Girls**

**#4 – Charlene "Charlie" Rae Dolan (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**#11 – Rahdi Patel (STATUS: STILL ACTIVE.)**

**CURRENT ELAPSED TIME: 2 hours, 24 minutes, 18 seconds**

**TOTAL ACTIVE: 28**

**TOTAL INCAPACITATED: 1**

**TOTAL INJURED: 4**

**TOTAL DECEASED: 1**

**STUDENTS REMAINING: 28**


	22. Personal Views and Opinions 2

**AN EXCERPT FROM **_**PERSONAL VIEWS AND OPINIONS, THE 1**__**ST**__** AMERICAN BLITZ: FROM THE JOURNALS OF OMATSU REIKO**_

* * *

**Pre-Game, April 18, 2011 – Ten Days Before 'the Blitz' Execution.**

**1036 hrs**

"I have just completed from my sixth tour of the site chosen for the American bastardization of 'the Program'. The refit of the _Kasanagi-Etō_ continues on schedule. The power systems have been restored and all but the air conditioning is functioning within acceptable parameters. They have also managed to stabilize the ballast control problem, which was one of my main sources of aggravation with the original refit teams. I have been told by my men that the remaining issues with the platform, such as the Dynamic Positioning System, should be addressed within the next day or so. In return, I have praised them for their exemplary work. It would seem that my 'motivational tactics' have yielded positive results.

"I do not expect the same when I arrive on the mainland.

"In truth, my return to the government building was full of both anticipation and dread. Unsurprisingly, it was dread that won out. The unfettered hope I had held onto for much of my tour of the _Kasanagi-Etō_ ended much as expected. With great disappointment. It was quite a blow to again learn that my request for a week long hiatus was denied.

"Before this 'alliance' came about, I was due a brief respite of three weeks as my Administrative Duty Cycle was being reorganized because of two top tier retirements of 'Program' Supervisors in as many days. At the time, I had found myself startled by just how forward I was looking to my coming 'vacation'. The zeal I exhibited was comparable to that of a girl asked to a summer festival by the boy she liked. I could not have been any happier at the thought of spending more time with my children and husband.

"Yet that joy did not last. I suppose I should not have expected it to, considering my occupation. With very little warning, I was informed by my superiors of the so-called 'MERA Contract' and was immediately offered the task of heading the 'American Blitz' of 'the Program'. For me, for reasons which struck too close to my heart, refusal was not an option. Thus my leave was revoked and I reported for debriefing the very morning my three week respite was due to begin.

"It should not be at all surprising the strain that an Administrative posting – especially that of 'Program' Supervisor – can put on not just a marriage, but a family as well. The life of a Commonwealth Administrator is rarely their own. It was not that I found it unfair, however. My job in Government Administration is a good one and keeps my family from poverty. With the Commonwealth's economy still unstable, I would have been a great fool to turn down such an opportunity.

"They were, of course, disappointed with my decision. I cannot say I blame them. I was just as disappointed in myself for allowing my unresolved feelings in regards to Junko to so easily drive my actions. I still felt bitterness over her death; over my choice to send her to 'the Program'. That bitterness was transferred in whole to the United States of America.

"As I did days after agreeing to the task, I keep telling myself that she was not the reason I accepted the assignment. But like I did back then, I know it is a lie. Junko may not have been the sole reason, but she was a major part of it. And because of that, I felt guilt over my decision; a guilt which still lingers in my heart now.

"It was no more than two days into the assignment that I made the request for a week reprieve before committing fully to heading the 'the Blitz'. The reason I gave was so that I could mentally prepare myself for the duty to come in lieu of the three weeks I had denied because of the contractual agreement with America and my personal history concerning the nation. But it was a partial truth; a half-lie born of guilt and a desire not to repeat mistakes made by another.

"A parent that the word could hardly be applied to.

"Throughout my childhood, I had suffered similar issues of abandonment of family in lieu work. I had promised myself I would not follow this path. But the Collapse and what followed in its wake stretched the boundaries of that promise. It forced me down a road much too similar to the one I was trying to avoid.

"I did not want them to come to hate me for not being there. I did not want to miss a single moment of them growing up; of them maturing into the adults who would marry and eventually have children of their own. I did not want my future grandchildren to not know of me. I wanted to remain a part of their lives, be there for them when they needed my comforting words or a stern hand to discipline them. I wished only to perform my job to the best of my abilities and spend an equal amount of time with my children. But wishes are seldom heard, let alone granted.

"I had been absent from Isane, Shiho and Jiro's lives for far too long. They would soon learn to dismiss me from their thoughts. Just as I had learned to do when I was their age. As a mother, the very thought of that was intolerable.

"My request was significant for another reason. The anniversary of Junko's death loomed close and I wished very much to spend that day in quiet celebration with my family. I had no wish of trying to fit in a visit to her resting place between requisition meetings and site tours. She was my daughter and she deserved the time I could not grant her in life.

"Despite what happened, I still regard her memory with love and joy, sadness and regret. The pain might not be as sharp as it was in past anniversaries, but it still remains. Some pain never leaves you, I have learned. No matter how much you wished for it to do so.

"But it was not only my children I missed. I also desired to see Adachi again, to feel his arms wrapped around me as he alleviates me of the guilt and crisises of faith my occupation sometimes troubled me with. His sweet whispers gave me strength. His love reforged my will. His devotion made me love him without question. Without Adachi, the man whom I promised a lifetime, I do not think that I could shoulder this burden. Unlike some of my peers, I receive no joy from the murder of children. I simply do what I must to ensure the survival of my nation; to ensure the survival of my family. It is not a duty I take lightly.

"I only do what I must.

"Yet for all of my wants and needs, for the time I wish to devote full and only to my family; I know the two days I have been granted will not be near enough.

"The end of the day crept ever closer. My tasks become tedious and long-winded. The arrival of my two day reprieve was near at hand. Yet it seemed beyond my reach at the same time. The minutes and hours both seem to drag. My office in the Administrative Wing almost feels a prison. I can feel my patience wearing thin. It is a true shame that this opportunity to teach the weak-willed American children the error of their depraved ways has come at a time when I crave nothing more than the comfort and warmth of my family.

"Much like the United States did with Junko, it has again stolen something precious from my loved ones…me.

"Since the signing of the MERA Contract and the creation of 'the Blitz', my time has not been my own. If I wish for my government and country to recover completely and truly from the Collapse, I cannot allow it to be my own. It was the reason why I was selected and it was one of the reasons why I chose to accept. The sacrifice is necessary. Yet my children and husband pay the heaviest price for it. And that has come to weigh greatly on my mind.

"Paperwork and meetings with government liaisons preparing to depart for the United States is what takes up most of my days now. Constant inspection tours of the _Kasanagi-Etō_ drain me. My nights are filled with reports, updates, acquisition requests and not much else. I often wonder, do I live or do I simply exist? I am sure my family wonders the same.

"Sleep has merely become a brief pause in my chaotic life. My children wish my time. Adachi needs me to be a wife. I can give neither. I no longer belong to them.

"My husband understands my burden. I cannot say the same of my children. How many times must I turn them away when all they wish is only to sit with me; just to be near to a mother that they no longer see? How many times over will it break my heart to push them away because work demands it of me?

"It is becoming harder still to find the time to fit my family into my life. I am a ghost to them, walking the floors of our home while they dream. How like my father I have become.

"I have learned to play the role he groomed me for well. The attentive soldier doing what is required despite the personal sacrifice. If he were still alive to see the woman I have grown into, I am sure my father would approve. Even if I do not.

"My father. He was never known for his show of compassion, always putting work before his family. I remember spending many a night up late learning the inner workings of the brutal corporate world he was a part of. I did this not just because it was expected of me but because it was the only thing that kept me close to him. He may have been a bitter and hard man but he was still my father and I loved him unconditionally. Even when he sent me away to America for my studies abroad, I could not bring myself to hate him.

"Yet that strength and determination I so admired was crushed under the weight of the Collapse. The stress and worry over losing his business took away his days. More than ever before, he became a shadow to us. Our daily existence no longer seemed to be a part of his world. Even when my mother took ill and hovered near death, he showed very little concern; content to leave her care in the hands of myself and my brother while he toiled to save a dying corporation. Because of this, he died a lonely and broken man in the years following the Collapse. Because of this, I grew to loathe him and everything he represented.

"My mother would recover from her illness but his death affected her greatly. She was never the same afterward. There were times where she would just stop what she was doing and get up. It did not matter whether she was in the middle of a conversation or merely performing her favorite hobby; she would abandon it without so much as an explanation why. I would follow her to the entryway of the house. Once there, she would smooth out her kimono and just sit and stare at the front door.

"I recognized what she was doing and it was heartbreaking to watch. This was what she would do while waiting for my father to return from work when he was still alive. It was such a sad thing to witness. But I never interrupted. It was all my mother had left of my father. A near life-time together reduced to a mere memory, a simple moment in time. Though it pained me greatly, I would not take that away from her.

"She became the sole reason I vowed to never become like him. I did not want my family attempting to recreate 'a moment in time' because of my absence. I had vowed to make sure that the needs of my family would always come first. To put them ahead of all else in my life. Yet, it is something that I have only been partially successful in.

"My government needs me. My family needs me. The errant children of a failing nation need me. I am stretch thin, spread too far over time that I do not have. I do what I do for the sake of our future; for the sake and love of my family.

"But I fear, in time, that I too will fail as my father had."


	23. Dramatis Personae: Overture

**1st AMERICAN BLITZ**

* * *

_**DRAMATIS PERSONAE**_** OVERTURE**

**Boys, No. 04**

**Eduardo 'Eddy' Escobar**

**"A Question of Faith"**

* * *

Two hours gone.

Two hours of sitting on the cold metal floor of the office. Two hours of feeling his heart beat loud and fast beneath his ribcage. Two hours of silence. Two hours of terror. Two hours of darkness. Two hours of wondering whether or not God would see him through this Hell he'd been thrown into.

He sat in the same office that those two girls were hiding in earlier, door closed and locked. He didn't venture outside of it once since he'd done so. The girls themselves were long gone and he was happy for it, especially after what the older of them had done to him. But he knew, down deep, that he'd brought that on himself.

His eyes were teary; cheeks moist from the ones that had come before. Pain and fear kept them that way; just as they, in turn, kept him quiet. He was in a bad way and he knew it; cornered in an office on a derelict oil rig surrounded by deranged students out to get him and nose broken. It hurt so bad; worse than anything he'd ever felt before. Yet even knowing that, Eddy decided resetting his broken nose was something that needed to be done. He wouldn't be able to concentrate on maintaining his faith if he left it as it was.

The pain he experienced while doing so was like nothing he had every felt before. It was worse than the injury itself. And snapping it back into place _sounded_ more horrible than it felt. It was a good thing he'd waited for the two minute gap between students exiting the briefing room. He was sure his scream would have alerted anyone passing by.

After leaving the briefing room, he didn't know where to run or where to hide. He didn't know what to do. He was lost, lost in a world that seemed out to get him and _only_ him. Everything was spinning out of control faster than he could adjust.

But then, how could he adjust to something so…so _insane_?

A fight to the death? The only way to go home was to kill everyone else? How did he get dragged into this? Why was he suffering on an offshore drilling platform halfway across the world when he was supposed to be in Paris? Omatsu had explained the reasons but he still couldn't bring himself to believe it despite the brutality he'd already experienced.

And how had he ended up a target for everyone else he'd come upon?

The Asian kid who'd attacked him for pretty much no reason other than convenience and shoved him into a wall, breaking his nose. That stupid girl who'd literally slammed a door in his face and kicked him in the balls when all he wanted was help. Help! Even though he knew she had done so in retaliation for him grabbing the younger one she was with – maybe it was her sister? – it still didn't excuse what she did.

Or did it?

Eddy was aware that his loss of control, his anger, had played a large role in what she'd done to him. Blinded by pain and embarrassment, he let it get the better of him; grabbing the other girl in a desperate attempt to get the older one to help him. He should have known doing that would bring consequences. Even after almost an hour and a half in the office, he was _still_ feeling the lingering effects of those 'consequences'. She had kicked him that damn hard.

Every person he'd run into so far seemed only to want to cause him harm. They only seemed to want to hurt him or worse. But why? What had he ever done to any of them? He didn't even _know_ most of them! So why were they all coming after him?

Yet, as he heard many times, God worked in mysterious ways. In two instances of confrontation, he had survived them both. Yes, he'd come as close to death as he ever wanted to in one and suffered humiliation and pain in another; but he had lived through them. It didn't matter what anyone else thought. His faith had protected him. Miracles _did_ exist.

He didn't want to hurt anyone. It wasn't in his nature to be that mean. Only in anger did he seem to lash out. It always brought out the worst in him, ever since he started high school. It always made him do things he'd regret, hurt people he didn't mean to.

His size had always been a problem for him. In kindergarten, he'd been larger than all the other children in his class. His height and weight continued to grow as he got older. By the time he was attending high school, Eddy was bigger than some of the upperclassmen on the football team. Unfortunately for him, with his size came strength.

All throughout his childhood, he had been told to be careful around the other children by his parents. They had explained to him that it would be easy to hurt them because he was larger than they were. They also told him that it was a blessing from God. He never understood what they had meant by that.

Until now.

Though their words didn't fall on deaf ears, accidents always seemed to happen. No matter how hard he tried to avoid them. He could still remember hearing his cousin crying after he'd pushed her swing too hard and she had gotten scared because it'd gone too high. Even though he told her he was sorry, things were never the same between them.

Over and over, the accidents just kept happening. He would hurt his friends while just rough-housing. They would ask him to push their swings or see-saw with them or push the merry-go-round. And though it wasn't always the case, something would eventually go wrong and someone would get hurt.

Because of him.

To him, it felt more and more like his blessing was a curse. It didn't get any better as he got older and it only got worse when he entered high school. His friends began to tease him behind his back. Other kids he didn't know started to pick on him because they knew he wouldn't fight back. They figured it was because he was fat and cowardly. But they were wrong.

He was doing so to protect them.

Eddy just couldn't risk it. He couldn't take that chance. He was just too afraid of what might happen if he fought back.

Yet they kept pushing and pushing. Making fun of him in class. Making fun of him in the cafeteria. Shoving him around in the hallways. Knocking his books out of his hands. Beating him up after school.

On and on it went, day after day. Week after week. A repeating cycle of pain and embarrassment. Until it finally became too much for him to handle. Faith in God could only do so much and it couldn't protect you from everyday abuses at the hands of people who lacked it.

Eddy didn't know how long he beat on the boy. He didn't remember exactly what it was that set him off. All he recalled was seeing red and throwing fists. By the time members of the faculty pulled him off the boy, he was unconscious with a broken jaw – as he would learn later.

At first he felt powerful…strong. It was like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. No one was going to push him around anymore. They wouldn't _want_ to. Not after seeing what he did. They would all be too scared. At last, his time in high school wouldn't be a living Hell full of bullies and lying smiles.

But as the rage subsided, Eddy felt nothing but a creeping shame at his actions. It was a shame born from his Catholic beliefs and faith in God. He had given in to anger. He had lashed out in a wrathful and heathen way. It was something that God frowned upon. Simply put, he had sinned.

Most times, his Catholic upbringing would keep him from going as far as he had. Other times, it would be words of faith. Those, in large part, came from his older brother. An ordained priest, Raphael Escobar had often been there to comfort and guide him after a rough day of bullying. When he felt nothing but a burning urge to fight back, his brother would console him and ease his worries with the Word of God. Raphael would tell him that there was no harm in 'turning the other cheek' and that God would reward those who believed in Him.

Sometimes his brother's words reached him, sometimes they didn't. At his age, it was easy for the doubt to begin to sneak in; for his faith and belief in God to fade. Sometimes he felt that his brother's ministrations were the only thing that kept him from straying. For him, staying true to the path was becoming much harder than it should have been. But then, keeping faith was never easy.

There were times when felt the strength of resolve to resist fighting back. Then there were other times when the desire to feel his fists smashing into someone's face drowned his, otherwise, strong Catholic convictions. Resisting temptation once you'd given in to it wasn't easy, even for someone as faithful as he was. And Eddy _did_ believe in God wholeheartedly; even with everything that had happened to him in school.

But now his faith was really being tested, more than ever before. It was being strained almost to the breaking point. Was it because he had let doubt creep into his heart? Was God punishing him? Was he being chastised because he wasn't living up to his Catholic beliefs? Could it be…? Could it be because of what he had…?

Eddy hunched down in the corner miserably; breathing still heavy as he banished his memories and let them fade into the present. Sound in the corridor drew him back to his grim reality. Outside the door next to him, he could hear distant voices echoing in the hallway. Anxiety excised the last few thoughts about his past in favor of focusing on what was happening now. At least, that's what he told himself.

Though he wasn't too sure, he figured enough time passed for the briefing room to be empty by now. There shouldn't be anyone else in those halls. But even so, he heard voices. Unfortunately, those voices _didn't_ sound English to his ears. That meant it wasn't any of the students.

And that only left one other possibility; the soldiers from the briefing room.

He began to shiver harder and harder as their voices became more distinguishable. Their boots rang loud against the deck as each step brought them closer to where he was hiding. Closing his eyes, he touched his forehead, lower chest and both of his shoulders with nervous fingers. "In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit," he quietly recited while completing the Sign of the Cross.

"Amen," Eddy finished, clasping his hands before him. With very little pause, he began to pray for strength and forgiveness with hushed words. Feeling the prayers leave his mouth granted him a small comfort, but not enough to keep his body from shaking as the footsteps echoing in the corridor drew closer. He hoped that the power of his belief would aid in keeping him safe. He hoped that the conviction of his faith would keep him hidden.

The voices were now just outside the door. He tried to press himself deeper into the corner as he continued to pray, fear of his life pushing past his faith. His sweaty hands squeezed together tighter. The words coming from his mouth were a hoarse whisper in his ears. Sweat from his forehead stung the abrasions and cuts on his face. His body shook even harder. If he could just keep his prayers going long enough, maybe the soldiers would…

The doorknob jiggled as someone on the other side tried to turn it to get in. He barely kept from screaming when he heard the sound, clamping down on his jaw to keep his mouth shut. His prayers ended, eyes opening wide. The foreign voices stopped.

The knob shook again, this time with more force. His heart was beating loud in his ears. His carefully worded prayers were forgotten. Panic was fast replacing faith in the Almighty. Without warning, the knob stopped turning. He had a second or two of relief before the harsh sound of a booted-foot slammed into the only thing separating him from his captors. The door splintered open, sandwiching him between it and the wall. He yelped as the hard metal slammed into him.

"_Tachiagaru!_" an angry voice screamed as a hand wrapped roughly around his upper arm and dragged him from behind the dented door. "_Tachiagaru!_"

He didn't understand the word the soldier hauling him toward the doorway kept yelling. All he did was nod his head stupidly as the soldier yanked him out of the office and into the bright-lit hallway. The other soldier was standing just beside the door with a smug grin. He noticed that his rifle was unslung.

Eddy's heart leapt into his throat.

The soldier who had pulled him from the office gave him a rough shove after yanking him up from the deck. He stumbled a short way down the corridor before turning quickly to face the two men. The one holding his rifle pulled away from the wall casually and took a long look at him. His dark eyes seemed amused.

"How is you American say," the smirking soldier asked abruptly in broken English, raising his assault rifle and pointing it at him. "'Run piggy run'?" Adjusting his aim, the soldier said nothing else as he pulled the trigger before Eddy even had a chance to react. The corridor filled with a loud _bang_ from the rifle's single shot. His body jumped on its own. The air seemed to vibrate as the bullet scorched just inches from the side of his head and impacted the wall further down the hallway. Warmth flooded his crotch and streamed wetly down his leg, filling the humid, musty air with a new scent. But he didn't bother to look down. His eyes were focused only on the soldier…and the rifle he'd shot at him with.

Through the haze caused by his fear, he could hear them laughing and taunting him. Through the tears and the shock, he could see them pointing at him; pointing down at the growing wet spot in the crotch of his shorts. He saw and heard it all but was so terror-stricken that he was frozen in place.

Why was God allowing this to happen to him?

"_Nigeru!_"

He was only vaguely aware of the word being half-yelled, half-laughed at him. His body was locked in fear and his mind was trapped in questions. When he didn't move, the laughing stopped and the soldier yelled it again. This time, however, there was no hint of amusement in his tone. "_Nigeru!_"

Eddy didn't understand. He didn't understand anything anymore. He didn't understand what they were yelling at him. He didn't understand why they were picking on him or teasing him. He didn't understand why God had chosen to do this to him. He didn't understand why his prayers weren't being answered by the one thing he had faith left in.

A sudden and hard slap across his face forced him to confront his twisted reality again. Heat and pain rushing through his left cheek, his eyes were frightened wider by the strike. Turning his head forward, Eddy realized that he was staring at the soldier who had shot at him. He took a few unsteady steps back as the soldier raised his rifle again, hard expression eroding into that disturbing and uncharacteristic grin.

"'Run away' is what he say," he repeated in his broken English, leveling the barrel of the assault rifle just inches from his forehead. "Like fat pig. Run away. Or die."

Eddy backpedaled, tripping over his own feet and falling to the deck. Panic-response taking over, he threw himself over on his hands and knees; crawling into a run. With laughter and undecipherable words loud in his ears, he pushed his stout body as hard as he could. If he didn't, no amount of praying would keep those soldiers from shooting him dead.

His faith was wavering. He could feel it deep inside. Doubt. It was so alien and foreign, yet disturbingly familiar at the exact same time. It was growing within him; festering like a cancer in the fear pushing him to run. Fighting it seemed next to impossible.

If there was a time he needed to hear his brother's words of strength, it would be now.

_**-O-**_

"_Again, Eduardo?"_

_He just nodded his head as he sat down tiredly at the end of the third row pew._

"_Sister Agnesa," his brother Raphael called out. "Could you please bring me some warm water and a clean towel?"_

"_Yes Father," Eddy heard a woman's voice respond. It was followed by the sound rustling fabric and a door being opened and closed. But he was in too much pain to look up._

"Madre_ will not be pleased to see you coming home like this, _hermanito_. You know how she feels about you fighting."_

"_Tell that to the boys who keep beating me up, Raphael," he muttered sourly, looking up into his brother's face. "And I wasn't fighting. I was doing what I was supposed to do. You know, 'turning the other cheek'?"_

_His brother gazed down at him, light-brown eyes understanding yet firm. "Do not make light of that which is written in Scripture, _hermanito_. And do not blame your failing to understand the Words of Jesus for what has happened to you."_

_The sound of a door opening and closing brought Raphael's admonishment to a momentary end. A minute later, a kind-faced woman dressed in a nun's habit made her way up the aisle between the pew that he was sitting on and the one in front of him. She smiled tenderly as she sat the basin full of water down beside him and then pulled the dry towel off her shoulder. Folding it, she dipped it into the water and then wrung it out. Afterwards, she handed it past him to Raphael. He accepted it with a smile._

"_Thank you Sister, I can handle it from here."_

"_Of course, Father," she replied with a light nod. Sister Agnesa glanced back down at him, grinning. "Keep your faith," she said. "Our Lord God does not forget those who acknowledge Him. Remember that and stay strong. Now, if you will excuse me."_

_The nun gave Eddy light pat on the shoulder before turning away and walking back up the aisle. He watched her until she cleared the pews and made her way toward the front of the church. Then he returned his attention to Raphael, asking, "Is she new here? I don't think I remember seeing her before today."_

_His brother nodded. "Yes," he answered. "Sister Agnesa arrived here just last week. In that time, she has become quite popular with our parishioners. So kind and giving, we were very lucky to get her." Leaning forward from his place against the back of the second row pew, his brother dabbed at his busted lip with the warm, damp towel. The stinging sensation it left made him wince and pull away._

"_Stop being such a baby, _hermanito_," Raphael scolded, dabbing at his lip again. "You know that _madre _would not be so kind. Do you want her to deal with this instead?"_

_He gave his brother a dirty look._

"_That's what I thought," Raphael replied with a smile. Moving away from his lip, the towel was raised to a large scrape on his forehead. "Now tell me, Eduardo" his brother continued while brushing lightly at the abrasion. "What has you so angry at God?"_

"_I…I'm not angry at God!" he responded in surprise. How could Raphael even think such a thing? As faithful as he was? "What would make you think something like that?"_

_His brother wiped at the scrape again and then leaned over to wet the top of the towel in the basin. "Your words make me think it. The bitterness in them. You always were poor at lying, _hermanito_." Raising the damp towel back to his forehead, Raphael patted at the scrape again. "So, do you want to tell me what brought on this crisis of faith? Or do you want to make this an official request of your priest and go to the Confessional?"_

_He sighed. Raphael was right. He was horrible at lying. He never could do so with a straight face, especially in front of his brother. Sometimes he wished he were more like his sister, Anita. Sometimes._

"_It's…it's not a crisis of faith, _ñaño_," he blurted. "I just… I just don't understand."_

_Raphael just continued tending to his injuries. "Understand what, Eduardo?"_

"_What His plans are for me," he answered. Eddy jerked away suddenly as a burning sensation raced through his left cheek. Shifting uncomfortably on the pew, he pulled away from his brother's hand again with a grimace. "Do you _have_ to rub so hard? It stings!"_

"_It's supposed to sting, _hermanito_," his brother countered, placing the towel back in the water to rinse the blood off. "Now stop squirming and let me finish cleaning you up. I _will_ call _madre_ if you continue to make this more difficult than it needs to be."_

_With a sullen huff, Eddy gave in again. Leaning forward, he let his brother place the wet towel back against his face. There was silence for a few minutes. Raphael didn't say anything else as he focused on cleaning his injuries. That wasn't like him. Why wasn't he saying anything else?_

"_There," he said finally, pulling damp towel from his face and placing it back in the basin, "done. I've cleaned as much as I could, Eduardo. When you get home, put some ointment or hydrogen peroxide on those cuts and scrapes. You wouldn't want them to get infected. I expect that _madre_ will still ask questions, though."_

"_I'll tell her the truth…like I always do."_

"_And she would expect no less from you, _hermanito_." He sighed and then said, "You are nothing like Anita. She is one who can stand a few more Sundays listening to one of my sermons."_

_Eddy nodded in agreement as much as he could. His head still felt woozy and his neck was sore. Maybe he should have fought back this time. If he had, he wouldn't be in as much pain as he was in now. Would it really be so bad to fight back instead of taking beating after beating?_

"_And to answer your question," Raphael continued calmly, interrupting his thoughts. "You don't need to know what His plans for you are. That's what it means to have faith, _hermanito_. If you believe in God, truly believe, then you would know that there would be no need to ask the questions you ask. Everything happens according to His will, Eduardo. Everything moves the way He wishes it to. Even us."_

_His brother reached down and placed the palm of his hand against his chest. "You need to trust in Him _here_. _Feel_ Him here. Once you do, the questions and the doubt will disappear. But for that to happen, you have to let Him in. Otherwise, _hermanito_, you will continue to doubt and never know the glory of His presence. You would be lost…like Anita."_

_At the mention of his sister, he lowered his head. "I…I don't want to be like her, Raphael."_

"_Then you need to believe in Him more than you do now," his brother urged. "Acknowledging Him is not enough. You have to trust all of your worries, all of your fears, everything to Him. Let God take your burdens, _hermanito_. Let Him shoulder your weight. Just believe He can and He will."_

_Eddy looked back up, staring deeply into his brother's face. His words were so genuine, so true. They spellbound him. They lifted his spirit from the darkness of the beating he'd endured. Raphael had a gift, no…a blessing. He understood God better than anyone. It was hard to believe that he'd once been worse than Anita at one point in his life._

_God truly did work miracles with those who let Him into their hearts. His brother Raphael was proof of that more than anything else. Drug-dealing and running with gangs had almost ended his life; becoming the victim of a drive-by while on the front porch of their house. The same drive-by that had killed their father, whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was that brush with death and pain of heavy loss that made his brother turn to God to take away his burdens._

_Maybe it was time he learned to do the same._

_**-O-**_

He didn't know how long he ran or how far. All he knew for certain was that he didn't want to die. God had spared him that fate three times now. There _had_ to be a reason why.

Fear was making it difficult for him to keep his faith strong. He was scared. Even though he believed in God and knew there was a Heaven, he was still terrified of death. His strong convictions as a Catholic should have alleviated that fear. His full and true belief in God should have erased all doubt from his mind.

Yet, it hadn't.

Uncertainty still lingered just enough to waver his faith. That frightened him. His lack of faith, his doubt could get him killed. He _had_ to trust in God. He had to believe that he was put on this oil rig for some greater purpose. There _had_ to be a reason why!

Eddy pounded his way down another set of stairs, his breathing heavy and ragged. His chest felt like it was going to collapse. His lungs burned and his legs felt rubbery. But he had to keep running. Otherwise the soldiers would come and kill him!

With a small sense of relief, he stepped off of the last step and wobbled toward the heavy-looking door in front of him. Not stopping, he used his size and weight to throw himself into the door. It squealed open loudly, letting him out onto the platform level of his offshore prison.

He did stop then, taking a moment to gauge his surroundings. The sky was dark and the bright, yellowish external lights of the oil rig were already beginning to power on. The air was cool but still carried a hint of that humidity he'd dealt with while in the Quarters Module. He drew in a long, deep breath before taking a few unsteady steps forward. His legs were sore and tired. He wasn't going to be able to force more running out of them.

_I need to find another place to rest, _he thought, looking around cautiously. _I need to –_

The thought ended abruptly as Eddy's feet tripped over something big and he tumbled to the dirty, metal deck. As soon as he hit, he rolled over onto his back in a panic; throwing himself into an immediate shuffle backward. His eyes were wide and his mouth clamped shut to prevent the scream he felt working up his throat. He kept pushing himself back until he felt the irregular surface of a wall of some sort halt his movements.

Shaking uncontrollably, he took a long look at the heap in front of him. The recognition was instant. It was one of the students from the briefing room. A new kind of terror filled Eddy. Every student he'd encountered had tried to hurt him in some way or another – one going so far as to nearly kill him! The last thing he should be worried about was _any_ of them.

But that wasn't God's way. It also wasn't the way he was raised. Yet did any of that _really_ apply in the new world of misery and despair he'd found himself trapped in? Why should he care about any of these other students when all they would do is turn on him? Helping them would just get him killed sooner than later. They weren't like him. They didn't deserved to be saved! _None_ of them!

Realization struck and Eddy shook his head hard, attempting to clear away the deviant thoughts prevailing against the divine.

_No,_ he thought, trying to calm the anger that had built out of nowhere. _I can't think like that. None of this is their fault. I'm still alive and that's what matters most. God has kept me safe for a reason! It's not for me to question why. If it is His will for me to help the people here, then that's what I'll do. I can't keep doubting Him. I can't lose my faith in Him. I have to stay strong!_

Before him, the unconscious boy moaned lightly. His heart began to beat faster. He wanted to get up and run. But he reluctantly held his place.

In the yellowish glow of the exterior lights, he could see that the boy was injured. His electric-blue, button-down shirt was soaked with what could only be blood and seemed to be centered mostly around his right shoulder. He swallowed hard. He had only seen this much once in his life. And that was a day he wished he could forget.

It was the day his father died.

The boy moaned again. He crushed down the desire to run away in panic. His legs twitched in protest.

What should he do? Stay or go? He had to make a choice. He had to stay strong, hold true to the Path of Righteousness. God had spared him for a reason. What if that 'reason' was the boy lying before him?

Closing his eyes and uttering a silent prayer, Eddy made his decision.

* * *

**Boys, No. 13**

**Derrick Thomas**

**"Thug"**

* * *

He looked down at the length of black and silver in his right hand. Its weight was disturbingly comfortable. He didn't like that. It brought back too many memories.

His initial reaction to finding it in the weapon chest was surprise. If anything, he'd expected to find a gun of some type. Or maybe something blunt like a baseball bat or crowbar. He figured on the weapon being useful and easy to kill with.

But a fucking machete? Who the hell did those Japs think he was? Shaka-fucking-Zulu?

Then again, it _was_ a kill or be killed kind of thing happening. So it didn't really matter what type of weapon it was. As long as you could use it to kill someone.

_I guess it don't matter to those fools if we get gunned down or hacked up,_ he thought grimly. _Long as we off each other. How more fucked up can this shit get?_

He lowered the machete with a groan. The memories of violence were almost palpable. He could _feel_ the sweat, the excitement, the adrenaline as it pumped through his body. His hand tightened around the hard, wooden grip of the weapon. Those…feelings were the last thing he wanted returning, especially considering the situation. With an angry grunt, Derrick pushed away from the thick yellow railing, turned and glanced down over it.

According to his GPS, he was in the wellbay of the oil rig. About fifty feet or so beneath him, the ocean churned darkly; the remnants of daylight glittering along its surface in sporadic sparkles. The breeze flowing up through the large, square opening brought the scent of the sea up into the tri-leveled, machine space he was in. He figured that was why it was so much cooler down here than it was on the platform level; especially in the building interiors. Was it really too much for those bastards to turn on the air conditioning?

His weapon chest occupied the other side of the wide room he was in; directly across from the railed-off opening. So were the backpack, canteen and MREs. He had yet to find a water source to fill the canteen. But he should probably do so as soon as he could. If for no other the reason than the fact that the other students were all running around like chickens with their heads cut off. None of them would be thinking straight right now. They were scared and panicked. Reality was still settling down on them.

It was still settling down on him.

The world he'd been thrown into was no better than the one he had come from. Back home, everyday was filled with the threat of blood and violence. Every morning he'd wake up and wonder whether or not he would see the end of the day. For most of his life, it had been like that.

Small wonder he got the looks that he did while in the briefing room. Before the fucking craziness could even start, he already had two things going against him. He was black and he had the look of someone who'd lived a hard life on the streets.

There was no doubt what everyone else in the room thought when they saw him. Their eyes more than spelled it out. The looks of fear and reproach as he walked to the front when his name was called were unsurprising to him. Yeah, he was sure he knew exactly what the other students were thinking as he gathered up his gear, got collared and was pushed out of the room.

That he was a thug. A violent, drug-dealing bastard who didn't care about anyone but himself. A bully from the streets who would put a bullet in your chest as easily as he would eat a bowl of cereal in the morning. What it all basically boiled down to was that he was someone who couldn't be trusted.

He didn't particularly disagree with their feelings, but the reaction to his presence after Omatsu announced the reason they were brought to the rig – mixed in with everything else happening at the time – only served to piss him off. The change wasn't gradual. It was instant.

Almost as soon as it was revealed that the death of all but one of them was the only way home, most of the other students had positioned themselves as far from him as they could. That was well before the Omatsu woman made mention of his gangbanger past and a minute or two after the Chinese kid had been shot. Putting all that together with his rough, dangerous appearance and it was a recipe for instant fear. And hate. Whether she meant to or not, Omatsu Reiko had painted a target on his back as clear as day as soon as she'd declared 'the Blitz' was kill or be killed.

With everyone in the room knowing what he was from the beginning, his chance of forming a lasting alliance with any other student – save Rob McKean – were rendered pretty much impossible. In a 'game' where there could only be one winner, a 'game' where everyone else had to be dead; no one was going to trust someone they believed to be a murdering thug.

They would be smart not to. But they would also be wrong to believe that he was as big a threat as Omatsu had made him out to be. Yeah, he was a thug. Truth was truth. He'd beat people down and worse; _much_ worse than any of the other clean-cut students could imagine. Violence had been his bread and butter for nearly all his life. And he'd enjoyed every minute of it. Until he realized that it was a one-way street with a dead end.

The Japanese woman had done a pretty good job marking both him and Rob out as delinquents. It was true. They were.

But what none of them knew about him specifically was that his 'thuggin' days were long behind him. He'd given up the streets a good while before all this shit had even happened. His times as a gangbanger were over. The only thing he did violence against on a regular basis now were the rats and roaches in his house.

Yet he had a disturbing feeling that even if they knew the truth, it wouldn't really matter to the other students. To them, in their eyes, he was an untrusting and brutal thug. To them, he was prone to violence and took pleasure in committing violent acts. He was a good-for-nothing murdering bastard who belonged in the craziness they were trapped in.

And that was all they would ever see no matter how he acted.

_**-O-**_

_Derrick stared callously at himself in the convenience store restroom mirror. Sweat beaded across the brow of his dark face; their saltiness stinging his eyes. It caused him to blink a little more frequently than he normally would. And, of course, that wasn't making it any easier for him to see clearly. Everything around him was a blur and it made the reflection in the mirror before him hazier and cloudier than it should have been. Not that he could really do anything to help it._

_His breath was hot against his lips, flowing in and out of his mouth at a much lower rate than about fifteen minutes earlier. He was still having a hard time believing that he had it in himself to run like that. Afterall, it'd been a long time since he was last forced to run away from something – or, more specifically, someone. And though he really didn't miss those days all too much, Derrick had to admit that he did miss the exhilaration and adrenaline rush they had provided. But those days were long behind him now and he intended on keeping it that way. That vicious thug was dead and never coming back to fuck up his life again._

_The sound of the water running into the dirty sink was almost calming to his ears. Much more calming than the police sirens he'd heard earlier. It was a sound that would never be calming to his ears._

_Hovering just above the warm water flowing out of the faucet, his hands trembled – more from the bruises and drying spots of blood on his knuckles than the feeling of excitement that was even now fading away. There was a mild, barely noticeable pain there, which sharpened every time he flexed his hands to any degree. The feeling almost made him laugh. Bruised knuckles. How long had it been since his hands were in that kind of condition?_

_Placing his hands under the running faucet, he grimaced as the warm liquid ran roughly over his scuffed knuckles. The water streaming into the sink began to go from clear to reddish-brown as the dried blood was washed off his still trembling hands. But it wasn't his. Well, not all of it was._

_The majority of it belonged to some moronic dumbass who had seen fit to piss him off in the worst possible way. It had only taken a few words. That was it, just a few words; four or five little words spoken in the wrong way about the wrong subject. That was all it took for Derrick to revert back to his old ways and habits. That was all it had taken to resurrect the violent gangbanger he'd once been._

_He couldn't say for certain exactly when he realized that he'd tackled the other boy down to the pavement or when he had mounted him and began to strike him repeatedly in the face with his fists. By the time he was pulled away from him, the other boy's face was the consistency of raw meat – and his fists were stained with his blood._

_At first, he couldn't bring himself to care about what he done to the idiot. Afterall, he had it coming. But then he realized something…something that terrified him. It was something that shook him deeper than he thought it would._

_He had enjoyed it._

_The rush of beating down someone; whether they deserved it or not. That feeling of absolute power associated with being in total control. The undeniable belief that you held someone else's life in your hands to do with as you pleased. That nearly irresistible urge to go further than you knew you should. All of that had come back to him within those few minutes of brutal retaliation._

_Everything that he'd once reveled in without conscience or remorse had quickly rose to the surface. Everything that he now hated about himself had returned to mock him in the worse way possible. All of it had once again dragged him back to that dark place he had fought so long and hard to separate himself from._

_Grimacing crudely at his opaque reflection in the grimy mirror, he scowled at the image that stared back at him in disgust._ So, _he thought roughly,_ was it worth it, you stupid fuck? Ready to go back to juvie that goddamned quick, huh? Was all that shit really fucking worth being caught by the pigs again? And what about your promise to Mama? Gonna break her heart again? Ain't you done enough? How much more you gonna hurt her? Dammit! Gotta learn to think with something other than your fucking fists, you stupid motherfucker! You ain't that fucking lowlife asshole anymore! You're motherfucking better than that! _Taking his eyes away from muddled reflection, he turned them instead on his battered hands. Rubbing them against each other listlessly, he tried to cleanse away the remaining traces of his guilt._

_How could he go and do something that stupid? Did he even have a brain? And how could he just forget about his mother? He had made a promise to her on the very day he'd returned from the Shuman Juvenile Detention Center to resume his new life of responsibility._

_It was a promise to her that he would never take his freedom for granted again and that he would strive to lead a life that his deceased father would have been proud of. It was a promise that he would never go back to what he was before his incarceration; a violent street thug._

_And at only three weeks out, he had already broken it._

_Hands finally clean; Derrick reached over and turned off the faucet. It gave a loud _squeak_ as the rush of water halted into an annoying drip. Taking a moment to inspect them, he scanned over his two hands to make sure that no trace of his earlier lapse in judgment remained to incriminate him when he finally got home. He didn't think that he could take seeing the hurt in his mother's face if she found out that he had already broken his word. As street tough as he was, even that_ _sight would make him cry._

_Standing up straight, he took a deep, heavy breath and reached for the outdated paper towel dispenser. Everything would be alright. He just had to take control of his life again. Keep a clear and level head about things. Not let every small, stupid thing get to him. Control his anger and not let it control him._

_That was how he ended up in juvie hall in the first place._

_What he needed was a break from school and, more importantly, the streets which almost destroyed him. The trip to Paris couldn't have come at a better time. It was just what he needed. Someplace far away from that darkness and violence he never wanted to return to; a place where he and Rob could just kick back and have some fun._

Sweet French wine to drink and fine French hunnies to fuck? Shit, that sounds fucking good to me.

_Curving his lips into a weak smile, he retrieved his backpack from the tank of the toilet where he'd sat it. Slipping it over his right arm, he turned for the restroom door. Pausing to take another deep breath, he looked down at his hands again. He had to be absolutely certain that his mother never found out about what had happened. He wouldn't break her heart again._

_She'd already suffered enough._

_Gripping the grungy knob, he twisted it sharply and pulled the door open. From that moment on, he would keep the promise he made to his mother. He would never again go back to the way he was. The violence, hate, bloodshed and tears that had come to define his former life wouldn't taint this new one._

_As far as he was concerned, that rage-filled fool he'd been was dead and buried out somewhere under the streets that were once his entire life. And he intended to keep it that way._

_**-O-**_

The streets.

It was a past he wanted to forget. A piece of his life he wanted to rip away. Ever since he was nine years old, he'd been living the hard life of the streets. At thirteen, he'd been busted for breaking and entering. He'd also been accused of attempted murder, but the charge didn't stick because of the lack of evidence. That had been very lucky for him.

Even so, he had spent almost two and a half years in juvie. But that was nothing for him; a day in the park. He had every intention of going back to the streets, going back to the violence without even a second thought. Until he found out that his mother had suffered a heart attack and was in the hospital. That was when he knew he had to change.

Pulling his arm up, Derrick took another look at the machete. He'd promised his mother that he wouldn't go back to the streets if she got better. He'd promised her that he wouldn't do violence; that he wouldn't sling drugs, that he wouldn't steal or anything else that would give her cause to worry over him anymore. Unfortunately, to get back to her he'd have to break that very promise.

Even though she would never know what happened here, how he got back to her, _he_ always would. Derrick already knew that he wouldn't be able to look into her eyes and not tell her the truth. It would hurt too much for him not to. Yet it would break her heart – and maybe even push her to having an even worse heart attack than before – if he did. Whatever measures he took to survive and be the last one alive at the end of this stupid bullshit would all end the same way.

The complete betrayal of his promise to his mother.

For a moment, a long complicated moment, he considered throwing the machete down into the ocean below. He couldn't break his promise if he threw away his weapon and hid. But how long would he last like that? Running away from anyone who came after him – and they _would_ come after him, especially if it was known he was unarmed – and hiding like a fucking coward? How could he stay alive until the end that way? But what choice did he have? If he fought to make it to the end, he would be breaking his promise to his mother. And if he lived… If he lived, he would… He'd have to…

His fingers tightened around the wooden handgrip again. It didn't matter what he did. Live or die, fight or hide; either way it went, his mother was going to suffer. Either way, his promise would be broken in some form or another. At least by fighting his way to the end, there was a _chance_ of hiding what he'd done while on the platform; of sparing her the heartbreak and suffering she would endure if she was told that he was dead. All he had to do was make it to the end.

But to do that, he needed to become the monster he'd been out on the streets again. There was no way he would survive otherwise. Whether or not he could break his promise, however, was another question.

_No matter what I do, there ain't no way out of this fucking shit. No matter what I do, my promise to mama's fucked._ Pulling away from the railing, he lowered the machete to his side again. _My ass ain't gonna last long if I don't knuckle up. I ain't gotta kill nobody. All I gotta do is fuck 'em up enough, scare their bitch asses. That'll back 'em off enough to give me some goddamned breathing room. Figure out the rest as I go._

He didn't doubt that the plan would work. Everyone was already scared of him. And in truth, there was no one else among the students on the rig who could really take him down unless he let them. That included Rob. It was a pretty assured plan to reach the end of the 'game' and, if everything went his way, win it.

The only thing left to do was throw away the promise he'd made to his mother while she was recovering at the hospital.

With a low growl of anger, Derrick moved away from the security railing and made his way around the opening that led to the roiling sea. He knew what he needed to do to survive. But he couldn't betray her. He couldn't go back on a promise that he'd made while she hovered at death's door. To do so would make him worst than a thug.

It would make him a buster, a punk-ass bitch.

Crossing the span of the room, he approached his military chest. His dissatisfaction and unrest showed in every step he took toward it. He wouldn't go down like that! He wouldn't punk himself out just so he could live long enough to lie to his mother! _That_ would be the ultimate slap to her face. Abandoning his promise to her and then lying afterward to cover his own ass. If he did that, he wouldn't be worth the life he'd fought for in the first place.

Kneeling down in front of the chest, Derrick suddenly felt very tired. The endless tug-of war in his head, the back-and-forth nature of his feelings was wearing him out. And tearing him apart.

He wanted more than anything else to see his mother again. He'd spent so much of his life hurting her; spent so much of it making her suffer. The thought of putting her through that kind of torment again made him wish he had the resolve to throw himself over that railing and to his death fifty feet below. But his will to live was just too strong for that. His desire to see her worn yet stern face burned too hot for that.

_Never really had fucking a choice, did I?_ He laughed to himself. No, he never did have a choice. He had made it long before he'd been dragged to the hellish rig. He had made it on that long night he'd spent sitting by his mother's bedside in that sterile hospital room. He had made it when he whispered out in the darkness, desperate to save her life and bring her back to him.

Sitting the machete down to the side, he reached over and grabbed hold of the heavy-duty backpack. Pulling it open, Derrick picked up the MREs and tossed them in along with the canteen. Zipping it back up, he checked his pocket to make sure his GPS was still there.

His heart beat in his chest with nervous anticipation as he picked up the machete, slung the backpack over his shoulder and rose from the deck. Taking one last look around his temporary refuge, Derrick drew in a deep, final breath of the cool air and moved quickly to the metal-frame stairway. Stopping only to look upward into the tangled mess of catwalks and ladders for signs of movement, he grabbed the railing and of the staircase and began his cautious climb. He knew what he had to do.

He only hoped his mother could forgive him.

* * *

**Girls, No. 09**

**Holly Mathis**

**"Little Obsessions"**

* * *

Which one, which one?

_The rectangle-lensed, red-frame glasses slid down her narrow nose slightly as she filed through her closet at a frantic pace. Rack after rack of clothing slid from right to left with a metal-against-metal sound. Considering what was happening today, hurrying wasn't just smart…it was necessary._

Why didn't my alarm go off? I almost overslept! On today of all days!

_She might have been considered cute even with her glasses on and her hair pulled up into two, messy pigtails. But with freckles that peppered her cheeks and a mouth full of braces, Holly was sure she was hardly any boy's idea of a dream date. Her status as 'social zero' at school also helped in that thinking._

Have to hurry! The van will be leaving for the airport soon! Can't miss the van!

_On her bed, a deep green suitcase laid open and half-filled; most of the clothing sloppily thrown on top of one another in irregular ways which caused them to spill over the sides. She would have a very hard time closing it up if she didn't do something about it soon. Oh why had she waited until the last minute to do the rest of her packing for the trip? The Southwest Florida International Airport passenger transport van was scheduled to leave the Bayside High parking lot at nine o'clock a.m. It was already 8:17._

Red? Blue? NO! It's gotta be something that she'll like; something that'll make her notice me!

_Even though there had been the occasional rumor around the school, it'd never been proven to anyone that she was a lesbian. Sure, there were the signs. The most obvious being the way she was quick to dismiss what few boys actually approached her. The general lack of interest should've been another clue. But somehow, it always ended up that she was just shy or that she had been raped or that she was just a good Christian girl and waiting for the right guy to come along for her to marry when she was old enough. Not a one of those were even close to being true. It was enough to make her laugh. How her lesbianism always seemed to find some way of being debunked was a constant mystery to her._

Oh jeez! I'm not gonna have enough time! Please, please, PLEASE be awake Mom! I can't be late!

_Deciding rather quickly that red, blue, green and three other colors were the girl's favorites; Holly grabbed all of the dresses up and pulled them off the closet rack. Throwing them on top of the moderate pile growing in her suitcase, she quickly took hold of its lid and tried to pull it down onto the lopsided heap of clothing – most of which were still on their hangers. Unsurprisingly, the overfull suitcase didn't close. Near panicked, she placed both of her hands on the lid and tried to force it down with all the strength she had. But the stubborn suitcase still wouldn't close. Taking a moment to glance over at the digital alarm clock on her nightstand, her eyes widen behind the red-framed glasses._

8:23! Already? No! I'm gonna be late! Need to close this stupid suitcase! Please close! Please? Come on, close!

_Holly emphasized her desperate request by trying to throw herself on top of the suitcase in a vain attempt to close it. All she got in return was a sore chest. But she couldn't let that stop her. She _had_ to get the stupid suitcase closed. It was the last thing she needed to do before she could leave for the school! Everything else was packed and ready. She had made sure of that the night before. But that wouldn't matter – none of it! – if she couldn't get that stupid suitcase closed!_

_Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could see herself arriving just in time to wave goodbye at Rochelle as she, and the van, headed to SFI…and the trip of a lifetime. Slowly, she began to slide from her place atop the suitcase with a defeated look. Just the two of them in Paris; the City of Love! All of that work she'd put into winning the French Essay contest about to go to waste! Why was Fate being so unkind to her?_

"_Holly," a concerned voice question from the open doorway to her room, "what are you doing? Don't you know what time it is? I'm going to end up getting you to the school late if you don't get a move on."_

_Face brightening, Holly rose and turned to look at the lanky, middle-aged woman standing in the doorway with a perplexed look._

"_I am… It is… But…but I can't get my… I can't close this stupid suitcase, mom! It won't close! I'm going to be late! I'm not going to make it! I'm going to miss the van and –"_

"_Okay, okay…I get it," her mom responded with a laugh. "I'll give you a hand okay? Just calm down. We'll make it to the school in time. Now move, let me see if I can close this thing up for you."_

_She hurriedly stepped out of the way to let her mother pass by. Stealing a look at the clock, her heartbeat quickened. It was 8:35! Her face paled even more than it already was. She wasn't going to make it! Both Rochelle and Misty_ had _to be there by now!_

_What if Ms. Millhouse decided to go ahead and leave early? It wouldn't surprise her one bit. She wasn't really one of the woman's favorite students, afterall. Ever since her first day in French I, the teacher had seemingly planted Holly firmly in her crosshairs. Oh she was good and fine with her best friend and Misty Greer. But all she ever did with her was ride her ass._

_About_ everything_!_

_Could it be because Millhouse knew she was a lesbian? Was that why the woman seemed to pick on her all the time? Not that she would put it past the woman. That bitch knew she looked good and she flaunted in front of all the other students, especially the boys! She may've had a body but that didn't make her sexier than –_

"_There," her mother spoke out abruptly, "done. Next time Holly, take the clothes_ off _the hangers."_

_Holly forgot all about her mental rant about her French teacher as she finally registered what her mom had just said._

"_Cl-Closed," she returned awkwardly. "Y-You closed it?"_

_Her mother just smiled, nodding as she straightened from bending over the bed and knuckled her back._

"_Yes Holly, now don't you think it's time you got your tail in gear? It's 8:40. We still have to load the car and drive to the school. So I think it's past time we got a move on, right?"_

_Her eyes widened slowly. Could she still make it? Would she have enough time? How far away was the school from her house? She didn't really know. Unsure of whether she'd be on time or not, Holly moved toward the bed to grab hold of the suitcase. But her mother stopped her, placing a calming arm on her shoulder._

"_Why don't you take the smaller bags, Holly," she said, hefting up the suitcase in one hand and then releasing her daughter's shoulder to pick up a white-trimmed duffle bag with the other despite her tall and thin build. "I've got these. And stop worrying, we'll get to the school on time. Trust me. Afterall, have I ever let you down?"_

_She gave her mom a quick shake of the head. She was telling the truth. Unlike her so-called father, her mother had never let her down. He was part of the reason why she didn't trust the boys at Bayside. Or any man for that matter. How could she bring herself to trust any boy when they might end up being just like her worthless father?_

_In her eyes, boys – like the men they would later become – couldn't be trusted. Period. Holly didn't like thinking it was the sole reason for her romantic interest in girls. But she didn't deny it either. Being lesbian was more a matter of preference than anything else. Boys only seemed to be interested in one thing and none of them took the time to understand the feelings of the girls they dated. Or, as Holly saw it, used. Just from what she'd seen at school, they didn't care _who_ they hurt; just as long as they got what they wanted._

_That wasn't to say that girls couldn't be uncaring as well. She was well aware of more than a few that could give the boys at Bayside a run for their money in being sheer, unfeeling asses. Those were the types that she tried to steer clear of. It was bad enough to have your heart broken by some stuck up prick of a boy. Having it broken like that by a girl was something she just didn't want to experience. _

_Besides, how would she ever explain _that_ to her mom?_

_Holly wasn't sure if she suspected or not. Her mother had a habit of not snooping too much into what she did. Though she often suggested how cute this boy was or how nice that boy was, she never pushed Holly into taking an interest in them. She was aware of just how much it had hurt her when her father had decided to leave them for his new wife. Her mom knew that it had jaded her view on men. As such, she didn't really press the issue of her dating. It led her to believe that her mom either didn't know how to approach the subject or was hoping it was just a phase and would eventually go away._

_But Holly knew that was never going to happen._

_Picking up the remaining smaller bags – one a backpack and the other, another duffel bag – she turned and hurried after her mother. With quick steps, she followed her into the wide hallway that led to the staircase. Despite her build, she was effortlessly holding the heavier duffel bag and that stupid suitcase. Holly could never understand where all that strength came from._

_Watching her mother descend the staircase, she trailed behind. Her heart was beating faster. Would she still make it on time? Would Ms. Millhouse wait for her? Or would that woman just leave her behind? The thought made her bitter. _I hope Ro makes her wait for me! I just can't miss this chance to be alone with her! I mean, a week in _Paris_? How could things go any better for me? I need to get there! I can't miss that van!

_Trying to keep positive, she stepped off the last stair. Her mother was already moving through the foyer toward the front door._

"_Do you think we can still make it, mom?" she asked with a sigh. "I mean, it's gotta already be nearly nine by now."_

"_Didn't I tell you to trust me?"_

"_I know mom, but Ms. Millhouse…well, I...I don't think she likes me. What if she just leaves me here?"_

"_Oh I don't think that will happen, Holly," her mother replied with a laugh as she set the two bags down and opened the front door._

"_Why do you think that?" she asked, stopping just short of her mother._

_She turned and gave Holly a knowing grin. "Because I gave the school a call_ before _I came to your room and told them that you were running a little late," her mom stated. "They said it was okay since they were already getting call-ins from the other parents. Apparently, you weren't the only one who slept in. Anyway, they moved up the time you'd be leaving for the airport by a half-hour. So like I told you a few minutes ago, Holly, stop worrying. Everything's going to be fine."_

_Every word coming from her mother's mouth had made her eyes widen behind the lenses of her glasses. _I'm not going to be late? I have half an hour? Ms. Millhouse is going to have to wait for me? _That last thought made her giddy with delight; even though, technically, the woman was going to have to wait for Rochelle and Misty too. But the details didn't really matter to Holly._

_What_ did _matter was that she would have two weeks together with her crush. Two weeks to work up the nerve to tell Rochelle how she felt. And what a place for her to try! Paris! The city of romance! There was no way she could fail in this! No possible way at all! She really hoped that Rochelle understood when she finally revealed her feelings._

_For the first time since she'd waken up that morning, things were on the right track at last. Finally, things were going her way. With a delighted squeal, Holly dropped her bags and ran over to give her mother a mighty hug._

"_Oh mom, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you! You're the greatest mom ever!"_

_The older woman returned the embrace with just as much affection._

"_Did you really think I'd let my only daughter miss the trip of a life-time," she asked with another laugh._

_Holly just sighed happily._

"_No."_

_Breaking the embrace, her mom rose from her kneeling position. Bending over slightly, she gave her a light kiss on the forehead before turning to the doorway. She grabbed up the suitcase and duffel bag from the floor and then gazed over her shoulder at Holly._

"_Next time, believe me when I tell you to 'trust me', okay?" she replied with grin._

"_I will, mom."_

_Still smiling, her mother nudged her head toward the smaller duffle bag and the backpack sitting a few steps behind Holly._

"_Good," she said. "Now grab your bags and let's get a move on before you really_ are _late. Afterall, Ms. Millhouse won't wait forever, right?"_

_She grimaced slightly at the mention of her French teacher's name, but even that didn't ruin her good mood. Not now, it couldn't. Soon she would be on her way to Paris! How could anything ruin_ that_?_

"_Right!" she exclaimed excitedly, rushing to pick up the bags as fast as she could. Before she knew it, she was past her mother and well beyond the door's threshold by the time she said, "Let's go, mom! This is going to be the best trip ever!"_

_**-O-**_

_Ro, where _are_ you? Please, please don't be –_

Stopping her thought short and sighing miserably after wiping away her most recent tears, Holly reached down to the floor and grabbed up her glasses. Putting them on, she pushed up on her knees and rose only enough to peek over the top of the control chair. She took a quick glance out the wire-grated observation window. Outside it sat all kinds of rusting red-painted machinery and lines of thick, heavy chains. Even though she was armed with a GPS keyed into the offshore platform, Holly still had no idea where she was.

From the moment she'd been shoved out of the briefing room, the only thing she did was run. Panic and terror drove her. Fear for her life kept her moving. Before she knew it, she was out of the Quarters Module and somewhere out on the platform itself.

And out in the open where anyone could find her.

Holly remembered how she forced her legs to keep going. They were tired and aching but fear pushed her further and further into the oil rig. The superstructure rising up around her darkened everything with shadows. Yet she continued to run, continued to panic…until she came across a machinery-laden area with the wire-mesh grated room.

From what little she could tell, it was definitely some kind of control room. For what, she had no clue. But that didn't matter. She could hide there. She could keep safe there. Maybe long enough for Rochelle to find her. Without thinking on it any further, she quickly searched for the way in – found it – and ducked into the room.

After she locked the door behind her and dropped to the floor, Holly looked around the room with exhausted eyes. It was large with a tiled floor, monitors of different shapes and sizes, two metal wall panels full of buttons and switches that were parallel to each other on opposite sides of the room, and three big control chairs. Not sparing another thought, she crawled over to the nearest one and fell back against it. It didn't hide her completely but it concealed her enough for anyone passing by not to notice her.

A minute or two passed before the weight of everything that had happened crashed down on her. Before she knew it, she was bawling like a child with a skinned knee. How could the perfect trip turn out to be so horrible? This wasn't the way it was supposed to go! She couldn't fight. She didn't know how.

All her life, Rochelle had been there to protect her; to fight for her. There was no way she was going to survive this craziness without her best friend to keep her safe. Without Rochelle by her side, she was nothing. And without her there to watch over her, Holly knew that she was as good as dead.

Risking a longer look, she raised up a little higher. The yellowish glow of the external lights lit up the area beyond the grated windows and reflected weakly off her glasses. The crosshatched illumination splashed the control room in an eerie radiance. The low hum of the blinking control panels and 'sleep-mode' monitors only added to the unease the room was generating inside of her. She felt like she was in a horror movie; like anything could reach out and grab her at any moment.

It was an absolutely miserable feeling.

A sudden shadow passed over her and Holly immediately dropped back down to the floor. Panicked, she pushed back up against the control chair and tried to keep the scream she could feel in her throat from finding its way out of her mouth. Another brief shadow – this one larger – darkened the room. She clamped her small hands over her mouth to stifle the scream she had failed to choke down.

Did they see her? How many were there? Was it just those two? Had they heard her? Did they know she was in the control room? She sat there in a shivering heap, hands covering her mouth and mind slowly growing vacant of her chances of surviving long enough to see Rochelle again. Sweat saturated her green summer dress and made her feet slip around in her pastel sandals.

After ten or so minutes of undisturbed light and no more shadows, Holly pulled her hands from her mouth and tried to calm down. She drew her knees up to her chest and began to nervously chew on the nails of her left hand. The fact that it was a bad habit rolled around emptily in her head. Her canteen was still slung across her chest but the envelope and GPS were still over by the door. She didn't care, however. She just stared with blank eyes at the items as she continued to bite down on her fingernails.

_Oh God, what am I going to do? Who was that? What if they…? Could they have…? If Ro was… If she's been… No. No! That can't be true! She's still alive! I _know_ she is! She'll come for me. She won't just abandon me. She won't._

Holly's eyes locked down on the GPS and envelope. Her mind became lost. She didn't blink once. She didn't look away from them. She bit down on another fingernail, not realizing that she had drawn blood on the first two. Her heart thumped loud in her ears. Sweat beaded across her brow and then trailed long winding lines down her face – stinging her eyes.

But she still didn't blink.

_She has to come for me. She won't leave me here to die. I'm too important to her. She cares about me too much to let something bad happen to me. I know how she feels about me!_

More drops of sweat slid down her face. She bit another nail down to the skin. The sound of blood pumping through her body filled her ears. Her sea-green eyes never left the items abandoned at the door.

Not once did she blink.

_She loves me._

Her heart pounded behind her ribcage.

_She won't leave me._

More sweat fell.

_She won't let me die._

She bit down on another nail.

_She's coming._

Unblinking eyes continued to stare.

_I know she is._

Another nail chewed down to the skin.

_She's on her way right now._

Her eyes grew wide and empty but she still didn't blink.

_She's coming to rescue the one she loves most!_

The salty flavor of sweat and an unfamiliar metallic taste touched Holly's tongue after she licked her lips. She did blink then. And then she blinked some more. The taste on her tongue was…odd, yet strangely familiar. A mild awareness of pain followed. A stinging sensation yanked her back into the world she'd unknowingly abandoned with startling abruptness. Slowly, she pulled her hand away from her mouth and looked down at it.

All of the fingernails on her left hand were bit down to the skin; two on her right. In their place was broken flesh, raw and bleeding. For a moment, Holly just gazed vacantly at her ruined fingertips. The mangled skin and small spots of blood just wasn't processing correctly in her mind. She had a hard time understanding what she was looking at. Pain and comprehension cleared away the fog in her head through cold, frosty consciousness. Then her eyes widened in horror.

Realization had dawned.

Holly didn't try to stop the screams this time. They echoed through the control room, drowning out the humming panels. Her hands shook with each scream from her mouth. More tears fell from her eyes. She fell down to her side and curled up into a fetal position, hands still held before her disbelieving face. Her screams slowly turned into quiet sobs as she pulled her trembling hands to her chest.

Holly's eyes remained open and empty as she stared at the door. The floor tile was cold against her body and cheek, sweat amplifying it to the point of bringing shivers. She bit down on her lower lip, scrunched face predicting more crying and tears. Her mind whirled with odd, disjointed thoughts that were so random they made little to no sense.

_She is…_

_I'm love…_

_Want her…_

_The one I…_

_Save me…_

_Who is…_

_Oh God…_

_Please love me…_

_Hurt her…_

_Need her…_

_Wanna fuck her…_

_Mine…_

_Ro…_

But amidst all the noise in her head, amidst her seeming descent into madness; one thought stuck out more than any other.

…_Rochelle…Please hurry…!_

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

Three students. Three different viewpoints. Three lives with stories to tell. Three stories that can end in the blink of an eye.

This is _Dramatis Personae_…

Karen Heiser shares an uneasy truce. Trading her weapon for safety, she ponders the motives of her 'savior'. Yet what is revealed leaves her more worried than reassured…

Arguing over the escape of Rochelle, Andy and Maddie Higgins come to terms with their inability to do what is necessary to survive. Determined to overcome this weakness, they vow to watch each other's back and make it to the end. No matter what it takes…

LaTrey Johnson has fallen into despair. He has discovered a horrifying truth that only reinforces these feelings. And his fears…

**Coming soon, "Opening Curtain",**

_**Dramatis Personae**_** of **_**1**__**st**__** AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

The monster chapter has finally been unleashed on the unsuspecting readers. Only, it's not quite the 'monster' I planned on it being. Oh yeah, it _began_ as a monster chapter of uber-epic proportions. But two things occurred to me as I toiled away on the inaugural _Dramatis Personae_. First, it was taking me too damn long to complete. And second, I was already at twenty-one pages and I was only half-way finished. HALF-WAY!

I'm pretty sure everyone can guess the rest.

At full draft, I would estimate that the original _Dramatis Personae_ would've weighed in at about hefty thirty to thirty-five pages. For the diehards, that probably wouldn't have been too much of a problem. But for the uninitiated who decided to give _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_ a try, it more than likely would have scared them off. Plus, as I mentioned earlier, I was WAY over my usual deadline as most chapters only take me about three to four weeks to finish. This one was already at a little over a month and I was only at the halfway point. So, I made the only decision that I could make.

I split it in half.

This, however, will end up being a double-edged sword. On the one hand, you will get the _Dramatis Personae_ that much earlier; complete with three separate character POVs that are, hopefully, as detailed and in-depth as my 'proper' chapters have been. On the downside, you will have to wait longer for the 'proper' chapters to be written as there will now be TWO additional filler chapters added; one of which will be the second half of the _Dramatis Personae_ – to be named 'Opening Curtain' – and an unknown filler chapter. This format will continue throughout the rest of the story.

I know that this is an inconvenience and I'm sorry. But I was getting burnt out on the original draft of the _Dramatis Personae_. If I'd kept going the way I had, it would've likely taken me forever to finish and I don't believe it would have been up to my usual standards of quality. So please be patient with me as I try to make the most of a bad situation. Sometimes, I can be a little too ambitious for my own good.

Please enjoy the first of many _Dramatis Personae_ to come!

Ciao!

Terryll


	24. The World We Live In, Part 2

**THE WORLD WE LIVE IN, PART II**

* * *

**THE BLITZ**

It is the secret American variation of the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan's infamous youth control event known only as 'the Program'. A recent creation born of an ideological alliance between American government officials concerned with the wellbeing of the nation's youth population and the Imperial Diet of the Nationalist Commonwealth, 'the Blitz' is it's penultimate result. It takes all the basic aspects of 'the Program' while actually altering very little. For instance, the dark humor of the Nationalist Commonwealth's youth control event – the inclusion of 'joke' weapons which have no serviceable purpose during the contest – has been eschewed in favor of deadly seriousness. The exploding bomb collars used by 'the Program' proper have also been replaced with the United States' own PISCES PRC-001XD, a similar device that instead utilizes a vicious toxin which is injected into the subject and causes a horrific, painful death in lieu of detonation. But perhaps the largest alteration to 'the Program's' general setup is the use of the so-called 'mobile danger zones' or 'MDZs', in which the student themselves become a 'danger zones' via the kill signal generated by their PISCES collars. All other differences between 'the Program' and 'the Blitz' are superficial at best. As of the current iteration, the National Commonwealth of Japan provides all equipment and contest sites. They also supply soldiers and an experienced supervisor who can speak fluent English. This is believed to be done largely for two reasons. First, the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan has much more familiarity with running a successful youth control event like 'the Blitz' and know well how to handle the ins and outs of such a contest. And second, it allows all involved in the institution of 'the Blitz' an enormous degree of 'plausible deniability' in case the existence of such an event is ever discovered – unlikely as it might seem.

The rules are as follows:

1) All members of the schools involved must kill each other until one survivor remains.

2) All participants in 'the Blitz' are supplied with a ration of food (two MREs), a one quart canteen for gathering water and a GPS to aid them in navigating the 'combat zone'. Weapon distribution is left up to the whims of the current 'Blitz' supervisor.

3) All students will wear the PISCES PRC-001XD (Personal Injection Selector Collared Execution System Prison Riot Control Series 001 Experimental Device), an Americanized version of the Nationalist Commonwealth's Model Guadalcanal No. 22.

4) Each student will be implanted with a RFID chip to track their positions within the 'combat zone'.

5) Students are free to move about the 'combat zone' but must listen for announcements (once every four hours) informing them of the participants who have been killed.

6) While there is no overarching time limit (i.e. three days, two weeks, etc.), there is a 'twelve-hour kill clock' where at least one student must die within said timeframe.

7) If there are no kill(s) made within that twelve-hour period of time, one of the PISCES PRC-001XDs will be chosen at random and activated.

**THE MERA COMMITTEE**

A secret collection of senators, representatives, White House officials, corporate executives, government agency officials and military officers who feel that a harsher hand is needed to deal with the problems of teen violence and delinquency in America. They have come to an unanimous agreement that the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan's 'BR Act' is the key to solving their problem and have decided to extend an offer to the island nation that they believe will practically guaranteed a return to the nation's former economic and technological prosperity. While not exactly a 'shadow government', the MERA Committee does seem to hold considerable power behind the scenes of the current administration. It is currently unknown how long the Committee, as a whole, has been active in the United States; though it can be surmised that they have been around since at least before the fall of Japan as the resources they have at their disposal to cover up 'the Blitz' and begin a massive media campaign aimed at 'reeducating' America's children are not something that can be gathered on such short notice. Their name MERA is the acronym for the Millennial Education Reform Act, the actual legal Japanese reference for the 'BR Act'.

**THE PISCES PRC-001XD**

The Personal Injection Selector Collared Execution System Prison Riot Control Series 001 Experimental Device. It is an Americanized version of the Nationalist Commonwealth's Model Guadalcanal No. 22. Originally meant to be used for inmate control at maximum security and military prisons, it was deemed unfit and inhumane in a joint Congressional Hearing. All prototypes were then ordered to be destroyed. However, as evidenced by their repurposement and redistribution for use in 'the Blitz', the destruction of the collars was obviously hoaxed. Much like the Nationalist Commonwealth's design, the PISCES PRC also monitors lifesigns; utilizing a sensor plate positioned along the entire length of the interior of the device which rests against the students neck. This plate is connected to a micro GPS transponder which will broadcast pulse and heart rates to the connected mainframes. This device was also built with the inclusion of a smaller version of the current NSA OOS (Onboard Observation System) model, which can be used to listen in on participant conversations and banter to prevent events of sabotage or escape, though it is supposedly impossible. Because of the complex internal injection system, the PISCES collar does not include any type of specific onboard tracking and identification apparatus. Also unlike the Model Guadalcanal No. 22, the PISCES PRC-001XDs do not explode. When activated, the collars inject an incredibly lethal poison into the subject's body. The type of toxin used in the PISCES collars is a classified military secret but their effects are extremely efficient. Death is almost instantaneous. It is also excruciating, painful and disfiguring. Within less than a minute, the subject of an activated PISCES PRC-001XD will be dead.

**MDZ (Mobile Danger Zone)**

An innovation of 'the Blitz', 'MDZs' operate much like a standard 'danger zone' would in Nationalist Commonwealth's 'Program' proper. They also produce a radio signal that sends an activation command to the collar. But instead of it being an entire grid-based 'zone' generating the signal, it is instead the PISCES PRC-001. The students will have a sixty-second window of opportunity to get clear of the person who has become the 'MDZ'. If the subject is caught within the forty-foot range of the collar generating the kill signal, they will die. It must be remembered that this 'kill signal' cannot be stopped in any way short of it being disabled by the supervising soldiers via an override. Thus, killing the student who is the 'MDZ' will not stop the signal from being broadcasted. The student selected to become a 'mobile danger zone' will remain so one hour. Once that hour expires, a new student will be chosen to become the next 'MDZ'. This choice is completely random. Two hours into 'the Blitz', the 'MDZ' rule will go into effect. Every four hours thereafter, the number of active 'MDZs' will be increased by one. Once all but six students are left alive, the 'mobile danger zone' rule will be suspended.

**THE MERA CONTRACT**

It exists as a secret agreement between rogue elements of the United States government and the whole of the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan. This will allow the use of American high school students in a 'Program'-like event known as 'the Blitz'. The contract will remain valid until a recordable decrease in youth violence and delinquency in the United States is seen. As long as the Nationalist Commonwealth continues to participate, the MERA Committee will see to it that the quasi-totalitarian nation receives economic aid and a dropping of the sanctions and embargos imposed against it by the United States after its collapse.

The arrangement and stipulations of the MERA Contract reads as follows:

1) All documentation and recordable material containing any reference to the Millennial Education Reform Act and its ties to the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan shall henceforth be tagged and labeled as EYES ONLY. All such documentation will be destroyed when usefulness of said documentation has expired.

2) The Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan reserves the sole right in choosing the participating schools (ten per sixth month period) from which the entrants (no less than five from each school; aids in minimizing suspicions to a degree as having an entire class of high school students would invariably lead to more questions than we could safely cover up) into 'the Program' (henceforth to be known in all other communications by its codename, 'the Blitz') will come. This decision comes from a consensual belief that the Nationalist Government's experience in running 'the Program' will yield more favorable and beneficial results.

3) The United States Government will not militarily interfere with any 'defensive' actions and/or 'peacekeeping' missions specifically related to neighboring countries within the designated and agreed upon parameters. Alternately, the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan shall not conduct any actions, military or otherwise, with any country labeled as an 'American interest'. Blatant disregard by either signee of the MERA Contract to the aforementioned terms will result in an immediate termination of said agreement.

4) Until a decline in the three year escalation of youth violence, drop-out rates and general delinquency is seen, until active results are documented by the American MERA Committee, all agreed upon economic aid and lifting of trade embargoes and sanctions shall be left as is as not to draw any undue attention from the 'unsupportive' elements of the United States government. However, all corporate members of the MERA Committee will reshuffle their priorities accordingly to minimize any more harm to the economy of the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan.

5) Until suitable candidates can be located within American borders, the supervisor for 'the American Blitz' of 'the Program' shall always originate from the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan as well as being both competent and fluent in speaking English. It is believed that this will aid in the indoctrinization of the participants into 'the Blitz'. Summarily, the Nationalist Government will also provide soldiers as support and backup for whoever the chosen supervisor is. Supervisors with mental health issues (delusions of grandeur, severe psychosis and other acute ailments that will hamper their performance) or personal vendettas will not be tolerated.

6) The Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan shall provide all necessary equipment, weapons and combat areas as required by 'the Blitz'. These 'combat zones' will be randomized every six months for the students of each school chosen to 'participate' in the Millennial Education Reform Act as to reduce the traceability of our involvement.

7) The agreed upon 'primary' rules for our variation of 'the Program', or 'the Blitz', (as stipulated by the Nationalist Commonwealth of Japan and jointly agreed upon by the Nationalist Liaisons and the MERA Committee) are as follows: A) All members of the schools involved MUST kill each other until one survivor remains. B) All participants in 'the Blitz' are supplied with a ration of food (two MREs), a one quart canteen for gathering water and a GPS to aid them in navigating the 'combat zone'. Weapon distribution is left up to the whims of the current 'Blitz' supervisor. C) All students will wear the PISCES PRC-001XD (Personal Injection Selector Collared Execution System Prison Riot Control Series 001 Experimental Device), an Americanized version of the Nationalist Commonwealth's Model Guadalcanal No. 22. D) Each student will be implanted with a RFID chip to track their positions within the 'combat zone'. E) Students are free to move about the 'combat zone' but must listen for announcements (once every four hours) informing them of the participants who have been killed. F) While there is no overarching time limit (i.e. three days, two weeks, etc.), there is a 'twelve-hour kill clock' where at least one student must die within said timeframe. G) If there are no kill(s) made within that twelve-hour period of time, one of the PISCES PRC-001XDs will be chosen at random and activated.

**MERA'S FUN WITH CLUES & EXPLORATION!**

An American children's television show created jointly by corporate, FCC and NSA/CIA members of the MERA Committee, with the future goals of sending subliminal messages through its broadcasts and merchandise advertising. It was placed on the air the year before the first American 'Program' (i.e. 'the Blitz') was scheduled to take place to indoctrinate it into the minds of American children. It has thus far proven to be not only a ratings giant but a merchandising mecca as well. Mera is a little girl who always does the right thing and never gets into trouble. She listens to her parents and teachers, and always tells on the kids and adults who do 'bad things'. The entire Mera publicity, advertising and merchandising agenda only serves one purpose: subvert the young minds of American children by broadcasting subliminal messages and warnings via spliced video images captured from 'the Blitz' every time that someone on the show does something 'wrong'. The show has been regarded as one of the best children's learning shows to come along in sometime, constantly being compared to top tiered shows like _Go Diego Go, Blue's Clues_ and _Dora the Explorer_. It is currently airing in a favorable timeslot and has been cleared for a second season.

**'BLOODY MARY' ACRONEUROCYTELENE-115**

A manmade poison that has a lethal dose of 0.021 mg if used undiluted, it was developed by a team of military biochemists attached to the United States Army working with several toxic formulas confiscated in the aftermath of Iraq's fall and Saddam Hussein's overthrow. It was later appropriated by the United States Intelligence community for use in deep cover espionage and unsanctioned assassinations. All subsequent information on the team itself, where they researched and created the toxin along with any other relevant data have been sealed and classified to all but those with the highest military security clearance. Acroneurocytelene-115 is an odorless, tasteless and colorless toxin that can be tailored chemically to fit the method of death by catalyzing it with other compounds. As such, it does not leave any trace of usage and all death resulting from it can appear as an unfortunate random occurrence. However, in its pure base form, Acroneurocytelene-115 has a violent and devastating effect on human tissue. When injected into the bloodstream, the toxin causes severe internal trauma and hemorrhaging to the cardiovascular system; leading to rupturing and tearing of capillaries and lung tissue. This causes the victim to literally drown in his or her own blood. It also results in the bursting major arteries and eventual collapse of the heart itself. The outside effects of this are visibly gruesome and disfiguring with exploded capillaries in the eyes causing excessive bleeding, blood running forth from both the nose and mouth; all capped off with a variation of central cyanosis (due to the extreme lack of oxygenation in the blood) which swells the lips and tongue as well as turning them blue. Death is near-instantaneous; usually occurring within less than a minute. Due to the heavy amount of blood loss caused by Acroneurocytelene-155 and the resulting appearance of the victims post-mortem, the brutal toxin has earned the nickname 'Bloody Mary'.


	25. Dramatis Personae: Opening Curtain

**1st AMERICAN BLITZ**

_**DRAMATIS PERSONAE**_** OPENING CURTAIN**

* * *

**Girls, No. 06**

**Karen Heiser**

**"Conversations, Couches & Confessions"**

* * *

She looked over at Wendy Prince again. This would be the sixth time she tried to start a conversation with the girl. The first five all ended rather abruptly. It wasn't the easiest thing to strike up a conversation when the world had gone mad. But even if it hadn't, it would still be hard for her.

"Um…i-is that…" she paused for a second or two, gazing down at the rectangular device lying on the floor between them. The small, squared screen was dark. She'd inquired earlier about how Wendy had known she was out in the hall. All the girl did was point to it. "Is that the thing that let you…that let you know I was coming?"

The auburn-haired girl just continued to stare at the door on the other side of the small room. Legs drawn up to her chest, she had a thumb poised against her lips; those blue eyes lost in deep thought. "Yeah," she answered absently.

"O-oh," Karen said as she began to fiddle with her canteen strap. That was try number six. All the previous attempts at conversing with the girl had ended in pretty much the same way. At least she was managing to get some words out her now. A few tries ago, it'd only been gestures.

It'd been that way since Wendy had reluctantly let her into her hiding space. She almost seemed to be keeping Karen at arm's length; trying hard to keep from getting too close to her. It was giving her a bad feeling. Was the girl…was she…scared of her? Or was it something else; something much, much worse?

"Are…you okay?" Karen pushed again despite the growing unease she was feeling.

"Swell," Wendy returned in that same empty tone.

Karen gave a quiet sigh and looked over at the wall where a hatchet and a black bandolier full of gray, canister-like objects lay against it. The hatchet was hers; found in the weapon case after she'd managed to track it down with her GPS. The other, she assumed, was Wendy's. Seeing either of the objects didn't help her to feel any more comfortable. Neither was the other girl's apparent lack of desire to talk.

Was she hiding something?

Well, uncomfortable or not, she wasn't ashamed about going after her weapon. The crazy situation they were in warranted it. She had every right to defend herself. She had every right to fight to stay alive. She wanted to go home. She wanted to see her mom again. She wanted to live. Just like everyone else on the rig.

And she was _not_ going to be ashamed of it!

Wendy had been quick to demand that she hand it over to her if she wanted to come in. Karen was strongly opposed to doing so, originally. Afterall, what did she really know about this Wendy Prince other than the fact that she was hiding away? Just because she was didn't mean the girl was trustworthy. For all she knew, this was how the girl could've been killing others – luring them in with an offer of sanctuary. In fact, the _last_ thing Karen wanted to do was trust _anyone_ on the oil platform.

This was something that also applied to those from her school.

She knew Brian…and Andy too, but didn't _know_ them. Not that she wanted to. They were all on different rungs of the social ladder and it was an unspoken rule at Red Rock High that you didn't associate with those not at your level. She didn't live by that rule like some did but she didn't break it either.

It made it easier to deal with her...issues.

When Wendy had first opened that door and quietly called out to her, Karen wasn't too sure what to think. Her hair was disheveled; eyes red, clothes dirty and face a mix of panic, loss, uncertainty and anger. But she could see clearly that the girl had been crying. It was the first clue that she might be able to trust her. But even with the way she looked, Karen was hesitant. Trusting the girl might very well end up getting her killed. It was all just too…convenient.

Yet, she also knew that she didn't have much of a choice. Trust issues and paranoid fears aside, Wendy had offered sanctuary. A place to hide. A place to lay low and collect her thoughts on what her next move would be. Plus, she knew that there were much worse students running around the platform now. She didn't want to risk looking for someplace else to hide and running into one of them. Not with suspicion and insanity already descending on the platform. Temporary safety was better than no safety. And she had a good feeling that she could overpower the girl if she absolutely had to.

She could lie to herself as much as she wanted to, but Karen knew the truth. She needed to feel safe. She needed to feel like she was secure from all that could harm her. All it would cost her was the only protection she had from that insanity.

And so, she'd given up her weapon.

There was a brief moment of fear when Wendy took the hatchet from her and paused. The way she looked at it with a blank, nearly dead gaze had sent all kinds of warning signals blaring through her head. For a second, Karen thought she had made a mistake…her _last_ mistake. She tensed the muscles in her arms in preparation to take back her weapon. But the girl just regarded her sadly and then motioned her in with a little more impatience than she'd expected; the look on her square face frightened and annoyed. In her mind, that was infinitely better than it being murderous. Decision made, she was quick to move through the doorway and enter the small storage room.

After she was inside, Wendy poked her head out and gazed both directions before ducking back in. Closing the door and then locking it, she turned away from her with a hesitant sigh and walked over to where the bandolier was. Karen noticed that she didn't give it so much as a glance.

She crouched down and set the hatchet down with more gentleness than Karen figured she would after how she'd looked at it. It wasn't until later that she realized Wendy had done so to keep from making too much noise. That made a great deal sense, considering the situation.

Once the quiet introductions were out of the way, the auburn-haired girl had directed her to the other side of the storage closet. She didn't object. The worst thing she could do was upset the girl. That could lead to her being put back out in the open where she'd have to deal with…

"How…how can y-you be so…so calm about this?" she asked abruptly, returning her thoughts to the present.

"Believe me, I'm not."

"Then h-how… Why aren't you talking? Why a-are you just sitting there staring at…at the door?"

Wendy didn't change her position or look up.

"Because I'm thinking," she responded after a second or two.

Karen tried not to frown at the girl. With everything happening around them, with their lives in eminent jeopardy; did she _really_ have to be so rude? What reason did she have for being so brusque and despondent? It wasn't like she wanted Wendy to be her best friend or anything. All she wanted was for the girl to talk to her like she was actually there and not some afterthought. Was _that_ too much to ask? Was it any wonder why she felt so uncomfortable around other people?

"F-fine," Karen grumbled. "Excuse _me_ for trying to make conversation."

_**-O-**_

"_So, how are we feeling today?"_

"_Fine, I guess."_

"_You…guess?"_

"_Yeah."_

_There was a mild sigh from the older woman behind the dark-lacquered, oak desk across the room. "Karen," the woman asked as she organized the small stack of papers atop a rather thick folder. "If you aren't feeling up to this meeting, I can always call your mother and reschedule the appointment for tomorrow. There's no need in either of us wasting the other's time."_

"_No…no, it's fine," she replied, trying to find a source of comfort on the patient's couch. "It… It was just a hard week at school. That's all."_

"_Do you want to talk about it?"_

"_No… I mean, it's nothing. Really."_

_Her therapist glanced at her with skeptical eyes._

"_Are you sure?" she asked after a moment or two. "Nothing you want to get out in the open? Nothing you want to get off your chest?"_

"_Yeah," Karen answered in a vague tone. "I'm sure. Everything's fine."_

"_Well, if that's what you wish. I won't force you to talk about it. But eventually, you _will_ have to. Remember that. Keeping it bottled up won't solve anything. And I can't help you if you close me out to what's bothering you. Understand?"_

_Karen nodded absently, answering, "Yes."_

"_Good," the chestnut haired woman said as she looked back down at the paperwork in front of her. "As long as you know that I'm here to help you. I'm not your enemy. Please remember that." Her therapist paused as she slid the paperwork from atop the manila folder and then returned her eyes to Karen. "Okay then," she began with a friendlier smile. "Do you think that you're ready to continue from where we left off?"_

_Karen shrugged her bare shoulders in a nonchalant motion. "Yeah. Sure."_

_Shivering slightly, she watched the woman behind the desk on the other side of the large office gaze back down, open up the thick manila folder and thumb through it for a few minutes before grabbing hold of a voice recorder just to the side of it. With a quiet sigh, she turned her eyes away from the woman and stared up at the ceiling. Tucking her hands under her armpits, Karen clutched her arms beneath her breasts and pulled them closer to her body._

_Her therapist always kept the office ice cold. She had no idea why. It made her wish that she'd worn something a little warmer than the denim shorts, tanktop and flip-flops she had decided to put on for her hour-long therapy session._

_But then again, considering how hot it was outside – a typical spring day in Arizona, she might've passed out from the heat if she wore anything warmer. There might not be any of that brutal humidity that places like Texas and Louisiana experienced, but it was still hotter than Hell outside. She sighed again as she crossed her ankles and squeezed her thighs closer. Maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad idea to at least bring a blanket or something._

_She'd have to remember that for the next time._

_There was a brief _click_ and then Karen heard her therapist reciting a familiar series of lines that she'd heard so many times before. There were slight variations here and there such as time, date, what was discussed the last session and what was to be discussed this session. But it was almost always the same things that Dr. Hedgeway spoke into that small voice recorder._

"_Today is Thursday, March 6, 2009. This is the sixteenth session with my patient, Karen Michelle Heiser. She has been in my care for three months now. While she shows small signs of noticeable improvement, she remains closed off in regards to the true source of her problems. She continues to exhibit anxiety which hampers her social interactions and her depressive episodes are still a cause for concern. Even so, I see no need to adjust the current dosage of her prescribed medication. I have determined, in the brief time that we have spent together, that she has developed a genuine suspicion and total distrust of the opposite sex despite maintaining associations and even friendships with those she considers close._

"_I fear that this might be the result of a hurtful betrayal experienced at some earlier point in her life and has led to her experiencing minor bouts of paranoia. So far, she has kept them from dominating her opinions of others – at least those of her shared gender. But only time will tell how much these bouts will spread and whether or not she will allow it to damage the female relationships with those with those whom she considers close. And though I believe that this is what largely hampers her social activities at school and in the general public, I still feel that the past she keeps buried is the key to beginning the healing process._

"_I have spoken with Karen's mother about the matter at length. Even though she has informed me that she believes the troubles began with the accident which paralyzed her; I feel that Karen's social anxieties, mistrust and inability to form lasting connections with boys her age run much deeper than that._

"_As such, I have decided to continue the direction of therapy we began in our last session..."_

_Karen turned her head toward her therapist when she heard the woman's words pause. It was finally time for the woman to start digging around in her head again. Not that she was going to find anything that she didn't want her to find._

_She knew that Dr. Hedgeway was only trying to help; that her mother had sent her to the woman only because she was worried about her. The problem was that Karen didn't _want_ the help. She was perfectly fine with going through life avoiding boys in general. Afterall, they couldn't hurt you if you had nothing to do with them._

"_Alright Karen," Dr. Hedgeway intoned as she leaned back in her chair and laced her fingers across her lap, "let's begin where we ended the last session."_

_She said nothing, only nodding her head; trying not to flinch at the creaking chair. God, she hated that sound. It, along with the cold, was making the session more annoying than it should've been. With all the money her therapist probably had, was it really too much to buy some damn WD-40 to get rid of that noise?_

_Shifting on the couch again, she thought back for a moment through her irritation. It'd been two weeks since their last session. How was she supposed to remember something that far back? Between her meds, school, home and spending every two weeks on that God-awful couch; when was she supposed to have the time to remember what they had last talked about? It was a wonder she wasn't in some freaking nuthouse now._

_Besides, her doctor had recordings of all of their sessions. Why couldn't she just play back the one from two weeks ago and find out what she'd been saying? Would it _really_ be that hard? Why make her remember it?_

_She wished she had the courage to tell her that._

"_Ummm," she began. "I think… I think we were talking about some of kids at school."_

_The chair her psychiatrist was sitting in creaked again. Karen tried not to cringe. She _really_ hated that sound._

"_Yes, that's right," her therapist began. "But wasn't it one in particular? I believe you told me that you got into some kind of…altercation with him?"_

_Karen sighed. Something else she didn't want to think about, let alone talk about it. "Yeah."_

"_I see," Dr. Hedgeway replied. "So Karen, tell me a little more about this boy at school. I believe you said his name was…"_

_**-O-**_

"...Brian Addison?"

From across the small space that separated them, Karen fingered her GPS absently while nodding her head. It had been nearly an hour since she'd managed to get the girl to talk. But in that time, Wendy had dropped a bombshell. She was formulating a plan of escape.

She still wasn't quite sure how to feel about it or what to think. On the one hand, it scared the hell out of her. That Omatsu woman had said that escape was completely impossible. Gunboats, the collars, the soldiers and a huge, cold ocean seemed to confirm that statement. Hearing the girl even _mention_ the word 'escape' filled Karen with dread.

But then, did she really want to stay on the platform and try to survive until the end? Did she really want to kill other people just so she could see her family again? Was it such a bad thing to have a little…hope? Could she really afford not to?

"And you're sure we can't trust him?" the auburn-haired girl inquired.

"Yeah," she answered in a quiet tone, drawn back into the conversation she'd started. "He's from my school. I'm not too sure but…I heard he was bipolar or something like that. Everyone that I knew usually steered clear of him."

The girl – Wendy was who she'd introduced herself as – sighed grimly, pulling her skirted legs up to her chest while turning her head to stare at the locked door of the storage closet. It was the third time she'd taken up that position. "Well, that makes three if you count the two I ran across. So far, you're the only one that's actually listened to – and agreed with – me."

Karen watched with curious eyes as the older girl rubbed the back of one hand with the other. They were both trembling.

"I thought you said they were girls," she said after a moment, brushing at the stray strands of sandy blond hair that had fallen into her eyes. "The two you ran across, I mean."

"They were," Wendy replied, raising a hand to her mouth. "But that doesn't mean we can trust them." Biting down lightly on the end of her extended thumb, she spoke around it without facing her. "Especially after what happened," she continued. To Karen, the girl's voice sounded faraway, tired and sad; like she was already close to just giving up on everything. "One was so scared that she did this to my hands…"

The girl paused long enough to raise her other hand off of her knee and show the back of it to Karen. The skin was a fading shade of red and whelped with light to medium scratches. Nothing too deep, but more than noticeable. Pinpricks of dried blood dotted the scrapes from end to end. She looked but said nothing.

"…before running off after I let her go. I…I didn't even have a chance to tell her anything. Where she went, I don't know." Wendy lowered the hand down to her knee again. "The other I bumped into by accident. I tried to convince her that I had a rough idea for a plan of escape but she threw it back in my face. I…I got angry…and… And…we fought…"

The girl's words trailed off and Karen waited to hear more. But nothing else followed. She gazed at the auburn-haired girl for a long moment. There was no movement from her; she just sat there and stared at the door facing her. From what she could see, the expression on her face seemed to be regretful.

Her heartbeat quickened as a suspicious panic slowly began to gnaw at the edge of her mind again.

Was any of what the girl had just said true? One girl was scared and had run off, the other Wendy had fought. But what happened after _that_? Why had the girl stopped talking? Was she hiding something? Or was it just that she couldn't come up with a good enough lie to finish her 'story'?

Uncomfortable feelings from before returning, she pushed back against the wall without taking her eyes off of Wendy. The sweat on her back coupled with the thin fabric of the yellow t-shirt she was wearing allowed her to feel just how warm it really was in the storage closet. How much did she know about the girl – _really_ know about her? Yeah, she had let her in to the storage closet but that didn't mean the girl was trustworthy. Or innocent of committing murder. It could've been her way of trapping people, like she'd thought originally. And what about the first girl she'd mentioned? Had she really let her go?

Or was the poor girl her first victim.

"Wha…what happened?" Karen asked after a hard swallow. She hadn't forgotten where she was. She also hadn't forgotten about the rules. How could she? She quickly cut her eyes to the rear of the small space she shared with Wendy.

It wasn't the first time she regretted giving up her weapon. It also wasn't the first time she'd question the girl's kindness. Just why _had_ she opened the door and called out to her? She was already well past the door and a good ways down the hallway when she had. Wendy could've avoided her altogether and she would have been none the wiser. Especially with that tracking device thing she had. Was her so-called 'escape plan' the reason why?

She turned her head slowly to look in the direction of her weapon. Her hatchet lay against the far wall that was opposite the door. It sat next to the girl's heavy-duty bandolier full of gray canisters with tapered bottoms. She wasn't sure what they really were, but they reminded her alot of grenades. And if that's what they were, what chance did she stand against them with just a damned hatchet? The only thing she had going for her was that the girl couldn't use them against her in such an enclosed space without killing herself as well.

Or was she already so far gone that she didn't care about her own life anymore?

Her heart was beating faster and faster behind her ribcage with every thought that popped into her head. She cast her weary gaze back at Wendy. The girl was still staring at the door, eyes lost in thought. Her expression remained unchanged. In fact, it looked even more regretful. Why wasn't she saying anything? Why didn't she want to answer her question? Was it because she knew she'd been caught in a lie? The lone hand on her knee was clenching the fabric of the skirt.

Karen looked back over at her weapon. The hatchet was well out of her reach. The only protection she had against the possible insanity sitting a few feet from her was lying too far away to save her life. She should've never agreed to turn it over to Wendy for a chance at sanctuary. It was a mistake. One that could end up getting her killed. Nervously, she rubbed the palm of her hands against the coarse fabric of her denim shorts.

She returned her anxious eyes to the auburn-haired girl huddled against the wall.

"I…I hit…her," Wendy stammered abruptly, blue eyes still lost. Karen noticed the slight glistening of tears in the weak light of the closet. "With my…GPS… I… I attacked her. I… I… I gave in. To the…violence…to this…stupid game. I was so… I was…so scared…! So angry…at what she…said…! I… I just… I just didn't want to die!"

With that, Wendy lost her composure and dropped her face against her knees. Karen could hear the muffled sobs coming from the girl's mouth and watched as she clamped her arms around her legs. But could she really trust that any of it was legit with her life at stake? People could fake crying and being emotional. She'd done it herself once or twice. Besides, feeling any kind of remorse for the girl was the farthest thing from Karen's mind at the moment.

She just couldn't afford to take anymore chances.

Scrambling up from her place next to the wall, she rushed over to the hatchet with quick feet and grabbed up the weapon. The sharp, bladed metal head of it scraped loudly against the deck. Afterward, she kicked the bandolier of gray canisters over into the corner furthest from Wendy. They rebounded spongily off her blue and black slide sandals. Somewhere in the back of her head, she was surprised that she didn't stub her toes on one of those grenades.

They slid across the metal floor noisily. The girl in question looked up immediately and, when she saw what Karen had done, dropped her arms and backpedaled toward the door. The teary expression on her rectangular face was as questioning as it was terrified.

"Wh…What the fuck are you –"

"_Shut up!_" Karen screamed, holding the hatchet tightly with both hands and pointing the head of it at Wendy in a threatening manner. "_Just…shut…the…fuck…up!_" She emphasized each word with a shake of the hatchet. Her hands were trembling so hard that she could barely keep hold of the weapon. The sound of her heart beating pounded in her ears. She wouldn't be the next to die here. She wouldn't!

"Did…did you…" Karen's throat was a dry as sand. How long had it been since she'd had any water? God, it was dry! Regardless, she forced the question out. "D-Did you…" she croaked before pausing again to wet her throat with what little saliva was in her mouth. "…Did you…k-kill her?"

Wendy was frozen against the door, not moving an inch. Her horrified eyes were locked on the hatchet held in Karen's hands. She could almost smell the girl's fear.

"_Answer me!_" she yelled, forcing a startled jump from Wendy.

"I… I…"

With an aggravated growl, Karen took a step toward the cowering girl. In response, Wendy threw her arms out and let out a terrified squeal while attempting to retreat despite the fact that she was already pressed up against the door. Karen halted her advance and retightened her grip on the handle of the hatchet. She swallowed hard. All she wanted was an answer from the girl. Did she kill those other girls or didn't she? She had a right to know considering that this entire stupid game was killed or be killed. It wasn't just paranoia! She _deserved_ to know if she had just placed her trust in a killer!

"I…I'm not gonna a-ask you again," she said in a brusque tone. "_Did_ you…did you kill those two girls?"

Terror-stricken blue connected with fiery emerald green as Wendy and Karen's eyes met. The girl's lips quivered nervously, pulling inward for a second or two as she quickly licked her tongue over them. After a moment, Wendy opened her mouth and said in a panicky tone, "N-No… No I…didn't. I…I swear to you…all I did was…was hit her in the…head with my GPS. Sh-she was still…alive when I left her a-and the…the other r-ran…away… I-I…I didn't k-kill…either of th-them…"

Wendy's words trailing off into more tears and sobs, Karen stared down at the wavy-haired girl for another minute or two before lowering the hatchet and backing away. She didn't stop retreating until her shoulders bumped against the wall. Only then did she stop. "I… I'm… I just…" She paused to take a deep breath, sagging to her knees slowly as she did. "I just… I needed… I needed to know."

The hatchet's bladed head scraped against the metal deck as both of her arms came to rest between her thighs. The sound was a sudden and blatant reminder of what she had almost done – what she'd been threatening to do. Karen felt like she was going to throw up.

"I…I'm sorry," was all she managed to get out. Karen was scared that if she tried to say any more she really would vomit. Would she _really_ have killed Wendy if she hadn't answered her? Would the ends have really justified the means? The answer in her head made her feel even sicker…and sadder. Despite how close to throwing up she felt, Karen forced out, "G-God…I… I… I'm so…"

That was as far as she got.

Overcome with emotion, she dropped the hatchet and fell down onto her rear. Reaching up to cover her eyes with trembling hands, Karen felt tears for the first time. They'd actually been a long time coming. She was too groggy and stunned to cry when she first woke up. She was too horrified to do it during the so-called 'orientation' which introduced her – and everyone else – to the rules of 'the Blitz'. She was too scared to waste time crying after being released from the briefing room.

In fact, there _never_ seemed to be any time to just let it all out – her grief, her fear, her misery, her utter disgust at being 'chosen' to participate in the crazy death match. It all just sat there inside her, like a cold lump of metal. An uncomfortable feeling that could be ignored while her life was at risk. But now, there was no risk. And the feeling could no longer be ignored.

And so she cried.

After a few seconds, it all just became too much to bear. Everything that she'd held back since awakening to that dark room just poured out. She no longer had the strength to keep it back. Crumpling to her side, Karen pulled herself into a ball and let it all flood out.

* * *

**Boys, No. 07**

**Andrew 'Andy' Higgins**

**and**

**Girls, No. 07**

**Madelyn 'Maddie' Higgins**

**"The Complications of Family"**

* * *

Shakily looking up from where she sat on the deck, Maddie gazed in the direction of her brother with blank eyes. She was hazily aware of the large, circular opening three or so yards behind him that led into the hollow cylinder holding the rest of their belongings. They weren't in the same area of the storage bay as before. This area was more closed off and hotter, surrounded on all sides by row after row of massive tube pipes stacked four high. The dull yellowish glow from the light fixtures overhead made it all the more eerie.

After the incident with that black girl, she and Andy had been quick to move from their original hiding place. Though she still wasn't too sure it was a good idea to stay in a place where they'd nearly met their deaths; especially when that place was as large as this. But their choices at the moment were pretty limited. And why risk running into anymore people who were as intent to hurt them as that bitch they'd just scared away was?

Thinking about the confrontation – and the girl herself – made Maddie open her mouth.

"Why… Why didn't you shoot…her?" she asked him in a quiet voice; fiddling absently with the bag of chips in her hands. She'd scored about six or seven bags of them from a vending machine deep in the storage bay along with some candy bars. That wooden ax-handle of hers had been good for something other than cracking someone in the head. Yet, she was still very surprised by the fact that no one, other than that black girl, noticed all the noise she made getting into the vending machine. Maybe she was the only other person in the bay.

It was a _very_ uncertain maybe.

In truth, though, the trip was an unnecessary risk. Afterall, they already _had_ food – those MRE thingies that'd been in their weapon chests. However, she just couldn't bring herself to trust anything packaged like that to taste good; so she'd left to find something more…edible. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

What it turned out to be instead was the _worst_ possible idea she could've come up with.

She took a risk and almost lost everything that mattered to her. All for some completely useless junk food! It was a stupid risk, one that had nearly got her and her brother killed. She couldn't take anymore chances like that. She had to be more careful. For his sake.

Yes, for _his_ sake she – they – needed push aside any reservation about…doing what was necessary. It couldn't be any clearer than that! She had to make him believe and understand that.

"Didn't you… Didn't you see that she was…going to ki…kill us?" she pressed, brown eyes still lost. Her voice sounded eerily calm in her ears. That should've scared her, or at least unsettled her considering what had just happened to them. Yet it didn't. "W-We don't have…a choice, Andy. Th-This is… This i-is…real. We can't be…afraid. W-We have to… We have to be…ready. To do what it takes to—"

"Like I'm an expert with a gun, Maddie," he shot back, interrupting her while speaking around a mouthful of chocolate. Eyes refocusing, she frowned up at him and watched as the candy bar he was holding shook with his words. The gun he'd used to shoot at their would-be killer was back in the pipe with the rest of their belongings. She had tried to convince her brother to keep it with him at all times after what had happened, but he vehemently refused to do so. "And what do mean by 'do what it takes'? Are you even _listening_ to yourself! Do you even get how _crazy_ that sounds? Besides, she wasn't _trying_ to kill you! She was _trying_ to run away! The only reason I shot at her was to make sure she _kept_ running! I wasn't gonna kill her, that's for sure. I'm not a fucking assassin, you know! And…and neither are you!"

Infuriated, Maddie dropped the chips and stood up from the deck. She stepped on the bag without care as she took her first few steps in his direction. The contents within crunched under her foot; the popping sound it made as it burst open echoing through the voluminous bay. If there was anyone else hiding anywhere nearby, they might have heard it. But that didn't matter to her. She didn't care. Not right now. She just kept on walking toward her brother with heavy steps.

Only one thing concerned her now…only one person.

"It…it doesn't matter!" she yelled as she closed the gap between them. "_None_ of that matters anymore!" Maddie threw her arm back in a wild gesture to indicate the stacks of pipes, the large warehouse-like area they were hiding in and the oil platform that lay beyond it. Her eyes were wide and panicked now. All that earlier, icy calm evaporated by the fire of fear she felt for her brother. "Look around, Andy! Where the hell do you think we are? Huh? Does this _look_ like Arizona or Colorado to you? Does this _look_ like Paris to you?"

She stopped in front of him. He had a light smear of melted chocolate across his lips but the mixed feelings of fear, anger and indecisiveness quickly stole away the innocent memories she had of Andy from their childhood. If she couldn't protect him, _memories_ would be all she had left of him. Why couldn't he understand that? Taking him tightly by the shoulders, she stared at him with intense eyes for a moment. Then she pulled him into a hard hug, much to his surprise.

"M-Maddie," he grunted, struggling against her embrace, "what the hell are you –"

"I… I can't lose you," she whispered into his ear, pulling him close. "I…it can't be like it was before. I can't let something like that ever happen to you again. I…I just can't. You…you're all I got…now. A-all I ever had."

She tightened her embrace, drawing him closer to her body.

"And…and I won't let _anyone_ take you away from me."

Andy squirmed in her arms. But she didn't care. He was so warm, so alive. She wouldn't let anyone on the platform take that away from her. She was going to fight hard to keep her brother alive, even if he was unwilling to protect himself. He was all she had left in the world now, her fraternal twin. She loved him unconditionally and without question. She would do _anything_ to protect him. And if that meant she had to kill…then so be it.

She proved _that_ when she'd nearly split that black girl's head open with her axe handle. He was all that mattered. He was her world. Everything outside of Andy was nothing more than an afterthought.

"Maddie," Andy said with more force than before, "let me go! Y-you…you know I don't like it when you hold me like this! C'mon! I…I'm not kidding!"

Reluctantly, she eased her arms from around him. He pulled away with no hesitation, grumbling under his breath as he moved over to the large tube pipe stack that served as their new hide out. He gave her an uneasy look and then ducked into the pipe's large opening. Sighing, she followed quickly behind him; making her way over to the end of the pipe and crouching down before looking in. Why couldn't he understand her feelings? All she wanted to do was protect him…keep him safe from the craziness around them.

Keep him close to her.

Squatting in front of the tube pipe's opening, she brushed the long strands of brown in her face back behind an ear. He looked up quickly, the fear from what had happened just ten or so minutes before still evident in his jumpy movements and haggard expression. Yet when he saw it was only her, he scowled and grumbled, "I…I don't care _what_ you say, Maddie. I… I'm not…" She watched as he swallowed hard. "…I won't… I won't do it! You hear me? I won't!"

Turning his eyes from her, she said nothing in return; only watching as he raised a hand to his face to quickly wipe at his eyes. He had made sure that his head was turned just enough so that she wouldn't notice. But she knew her brother too well; knew how kind-hearted he was.

_Still trying to act tough, _she thought sadly. _Some things never change._

It was a nice gesture, putting on a brave face like that. It was part of the reason she had stayed on the ground as long as she did after that black girl had knocked her down. Andy coming to her rescue was as comforting as it was bittersweet; another chance for him to be her knight in shining armor. As wonderful as it was for her to see him like that, it stirred up too many feelings…too many memories.

They were memories that she preferred to keep buried and forgotten.

Andy playing the hero was unusual. Taking chances like that wasn't how he usually liked to be. He was normally quiet and reserved, preferring to think his way through problems or talk his way out of bad situations. He was never the type to act in a rash manner.

Unless it involved her.

And that was something that both aggravated and, oddly, filled her with a sense of pride. It gave her pride knowing that he cared that much about her and was willing to take such risks to keep her safe, even in his condition. However, for that very same reason, it pissed her off to see him taking such stupid chances. Like earlier with that girl. He may have shown a tough, fearless exterior while he was warding her off with the gun they'd found in his chest, but she knew the truth that lay beneath the lie.

Hesitating to take a quick look around the small clearing between the stacked pipe rows, she finally eased her way into the tube pipe. That earned her another hard glance from him. For moment, she found herself lost in his face. Even though they shared some similarities, Andy had much more of their mother in him than she did. Those kind eyes and soft curvatures; that lighter shade of shaggy hair and rounded face made it very easy to see that he had inherited their mother's delicate beauty. There were times that she wished she shared some of her mother's looks instead of picking up the rough and tumble traits unique to their father.

Was it any wonder why most kids at school pegged her as a tomboy?

Maddie settled into a spot about a foot or two away from Andy. He grunted something that she couldn't make out under his breath as he turned his head from her but remained where he was. She opened her mouth to say something but thought better of it; deciding instead to stare down at her greasy, dirty feet. She'd lost her flip-flops during the mad dash from the briefing room. She had wanted to go back for them, but Andy – still trying to play the hero even back then – just pulled her along behind him; screaming for her to just leave them.

That irked her; him pretending to be tough when she knew damn well that he wasn't. That was what _really_ got under her skin. What right did have to do something like that, especially in _his_ condition? Did he think that it had just gone away because they'd been pulled into some kind of crazy student death match? What was _wrong_ with him?

With an inward groan, she shifted her thoughts back to her bare feet.

She wasn't really too bother about losing her flip-flops. It would be a huge pain later on, considering where they were. Luckily, most of the metal deck had been smooth with no jagged or rusted areas. But that wouldn't last. So she was sure leaving her flip-flops behind was going to come back and bite her in the ass sooner or later. But it wasn't something she could do anything about at the moment.

As much as she didn't want to because of how it made him feel toward her, she had to keep her attention on Andy. He was the real problem right now. And the condition that he seemed obsessed with ignoring.

She stole another look at him. He was still facing away from her, fiddling with another bag of the chips she'd liberated from the vending machine earlier. The hair closest to his scalp was damp against his forehead and the nape of his pale neck. The white tanktop he wore clung to his slender body wetly.

Exhaling wearily, she tugged back and forth on the collar of her t-shirt in an attempt to cool down.

It was so hot where they were now. Their original hiding spot lay right next to that huge bay door and the constant sea breeze that flowed through it had kept the area much cooler. The air there was also a lot easier to breathe, not carrying too much of the oppressive heaviness the moisture-laden rig's interior seemed to drown in.

Taking a deep breath _here_ felt more like inhaling the steamy air from a sauna. The humidity this far into the storage bay was just as bad as the Quarters Module had been. It was stifling and uncomfortable, making her capris and t-shirt damp and heavy. She was sure it wasn't any easier for Andy. Something else she could blame on that black bitch.

In what little light there was in the pipe, she could see his ashen skin glistening with sweat. Though there weren't many, she could see a few reddened scrapes on his shoulder and upper arm. Her eyes lowered reluctantly to the large, ugly bruise about midway down. Despite the fact that it'd happened almost three hours ago, it still looked deep and new. She was quick to avert her gaze to stare back at her feet.

It hurt too much to look at it.

He'd gotten the nasty bruise after bumping into a wall while they fled what sounded like gunshots near the Quarters Module. Two, in fact. Loud, horrible sounds. Nothing like the _popping_ noise made by Andy's gun or the one used by that Japanese soldier to shoot that one boy. No, those they had ran from were much, much worse.

Neither of them really noticed the contusion at first; their priority being to get as far from the gunshots as possible. Only when they grew tired of running and sought out their very first hiding place, did she see what had happened. When she spotted the bruise, her heart was quick to seize up with fear. The realization of what it could mean was like a punch in the face. But she had every reason to react the way she did.

Her brother was a hemophiliac.

Blinded by outright fear of the possible complications incurred by the injury, she'd been quick to make him remove his tanktop, despite his vocal protests that he was fine and nothing was wrong. But she pushed him to do it anyway, more forcefully than usual. The unusual situation they were in made it more than just a priority.

As soon as it was off, Maddie had done a thorough check of his body and arms for any other bruises. She also checked his wrist, elbow and shoulder joints for signs of swelling and discoloration which would indicate internal bleeding in those areas. That was what really had scared her. Because it was that kind of bleeding that could kill him without his Advate to keep his clotting levels high enough to prevent it.

Unfortunately, the Advate, and the needles needed to inject it, were still packed away in their carry-on bags. That meant until they managed to find some sort of medical station on the platform to find a suitable replacement or just happened upon wherever the Japanese soldiers had stashed their luggage, Andy was going to have to be exceedingly careful in everything he did. That meant she was going to have to keep him from taking anymore stupid risks.

Like playing hero when he knew he shouldn't be.

That was what led to her desire to keep him safe and protected. She couldn't be like everyone else. None of them had anyone _really_ important to protect. Not like her. And for that reason alone, she couldn't afford to hesitate. If she did, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she would have to watch Andy die.

That was something she would _never_ let happen.

She had made a promise a long time ago to always watch over and protect him. It was so long ago that even he didn't know about it. Just four years ago, she renewed that promise. To never let anything bad happen to him again. This time, though, she swore not to her parents or God but to herself.

A spark of a memory flashed and she shivered with guilt. Maddie shut it away. That day…that night, all she wanted to do was forget it. It was the reason that _everything_ in her family had gone wrong. It was the reason Andy had almost –

"Don't you dare," her twin whispered all of a sudden.

She looked up quickly and found him staring at her with upset eyes. "Wha…" she stammered, trying to mask her feelings. "What are you talk –"

"You're blaming yourself again, Maddie," he replied, cutting her off. "You're blaming yourself for what happened to me. Stop it. How many times do I have to drill it into your thick skull that it was my decision? How many times before you finally understand?"

She hastily wiped at a tear – brought by the thought of that night – creeping down her cheek and went back to staring at her feet.

"You… You could tell me a thousand times," she responded miserably. "And it still wouldn't be enough." A memory pushed itself into her head as she said that. A dozen or more emotions that she didn't want to feel – that she had no right to feel – came with it. A familiar ache touched her heart. The images that the memory conjured grew until they felt like a noose tightening around her neck.

She closed her eyes against them, but that only made the images of that horrible day much more vivid. Without thinking, acting only on desperation and desire, she turned to Andy and crawled over to where he was. Tears heavy in her brown eyes, she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his abdomen. There she cried and fought against the memory that had ruined the life of her family; the memory that had nearly stole away the life of her brother. It was a memory that had ripped her away from the side of her twin and thrown her into the unfamiliar surroundings of Boulder, Colorado with her mother.

And it was a memory that she would never be free of.

**OOO**

Andy looked down at his sister as she continued to cry into his tanktop. Though he wanted to be, he couldn't force himself to get angry with her this time. He knew what she was feeling; knew what demons were haunting her mind. How could he not? They shared the same memory.

A hard, bitter and painful one.

Lowering a shaky hand to her head, he hesitated for a moment to consider what he was about to do and then began to stroke her hair tenderly. Maddie nuzzled closer to him when he did, shifting her weight ever-so-slightly until her shoulder was resting against his left thigh. Her arms tightened, remaining secured around him; unmoving save for the minor tremble here and there as she sobbed. He sighed, but continued to stroke her hair as gently as possible.

He'd always hated Maddie's touchy-feely nature. She always did have a bad habit of grabbing hold of him and hugging him close, usually at the worst possible times. 'My Anny' was the nickname she'd developed for him when they were both four years old. She still used it on occasion, mostly to embarrass him in front of his friends while they posted on each others' Facebook wall. But with siblings as close as they were, it was to be expected…especially with them living in two different states thousands of miles from each other.

And because they were that far from each other, he was cool with her habitual need to be the focus of her life. It was much easier that way; being the center of her attention on the other side of a computer monitor or cell phone. No touching, no hugging, no being uncomfortably close to one another; nothing that felt…odd.

He couldn't help but feel that even before the…incident had happened, Maddie was a little _too_ close to him. Not in the sense that she peeked in on him while he was in the bathroom or anything like that. It was more like he was her personal property, her favorite toy that no one else could look at or touch. That might not have been so bad if Maddie kept it strictly in-house and just between them.

But she didn't.

Before their parent's divorce, she had a tendency to act jealous and grabby whenever anyone else showed up. Like another girl from school, for example. It never failed. She would run up to him in the middle of a conversation or when he and the visiting girl were studying or just hanging out, grab him up in a big hug and call him 'my Anny' while pulling him closer than was comfortable.

His sister didn't seem to know the meaning of 'personal space' as it pertained to him.

But, as bad as that was, there was unfortunately more. When they still lived together, there was _always_ more. He remembered a day in particular when one of the girls he knew had come over while Maddie was out visiting a friend. She told him, pretty point blank, that she wasn't too happy with the way Maddie acted around her the last time she was there. She also told him that it made her feel uncomfortable to be around them when his sister hugged on him like that. It was that last part that pushed him to confront her about it.

He wished the confrontation had turned out better. Her accusations that he didn't love her or care about her had really hurt. The entire thing ended with her running upstairs to her room in tears and slamming the door. She wouldn't speak to him again for another three days.

He'd never understood why she was so attached to him. Why did she refuse to give him the space he needed? That may have been cute when they were kids, but having her do that to him when they were teenagers was just embarrassing. It was even worse when they in public together. And it wasn't just limited to his friends either. Even family wasn't safe from Maddie's possessiveness.

Andy couldn't bring himself to look forward to reunions or gatherings that involved his relatives anymore thanks to her.

He knew she cared about him. He knew she worried. But he really wished that Maddie would stop using his hemophilia as an excuse to violate his rights to privacy. The jealous guarding and babying of him, that constant need to be the center of his world was something that continued to grate on his nerves. And after everything that had happened, all it did when she pulled that crap now was make him very annoyed and very uncomfortable.

It all just needed to stop.

Glancing away from his quietly sobbing sister and trying to banish all those previous thoughts, he took a brief moment to gaze over at the small pile of items a foot or two away. When his eyes immediately found their weapons, he wished he hadn't bothered. Both the gun and the axe handle stuck out disturbingly against the two backpacks, bags of chips and candy bars. Seeing them brought back that terrible, recent memory of his sister fighting with that black girl and what he'd been forced to do.

His right hand was still trembling.

Though he had no intention of shooting her as she was running away, he wanted to make sure that she kept _on_ running. Like Maddie, he was well aware of what they'd been trapped in. As unbelievable as _that_ was. Also like his twin, he had every intention of doing what he could to keep her alive – keep them _both_ alive. He was as fiercely protective of her as she was of him, despite the possessiveness she showed toward him. What he _didn't_ share with her was her desire to commit murder in the name of keeping them safe.

He was sure that Maddie's obsessive 'overprotectiveness' and jealous feelings toward him pushed her to think that way. That scared him. That scared him a lot. The last thing he needed was for his twin to go 'axe-crazy' in a disillusioned effort to 'protect' him. Because he sure that it wouldn't end well for _either_ of them if she did.

But what could he do? His hemophilia was giving her every reason to act like some kind of possessive psychopath. If he left things the way they were now without trying to stop it, he was going to become Maddie's sole reason for killing. That was something he couldn't let happen. He had to find some way to keep her…grounded; some way to keep her from flipping out, losing it and joining in the madness of their insane situation.

Andy pulled his eyes away from their pile of belongings with a quiet sigh and gazed back down at Maddie. She wasn't crying anymore. Her arms had loosened from around his waist and were now just hanging limply from his hips. He heard light, occasional snores coming from her as her body rose up and down at regular intervals. He smiled as he stroked her hair a final time before pulling his hand away. He was glad she'd fallen asleep. They could both use the peace.

He raised his arm and looked at the large, purplish-black bruise just above his elbow. An embarrassingly thorough examination by Maddie had revealed that there wasn't anything to worry about. This time. But what about the next? Accident or not, each and every bruise or deep cut he got while on the platform had about a fifty-fifty chance of putting him six feet under. All it took was one good injury without his Advate and that would pretty much be all she wrote for him.

The thought sent a sharp chill up his spine as he lowered his arm and draped it across Maddie's shoulders.

All through his life, ever since he'd been made aware of his condition, he never really worried over it half as much as his twin or parents did. Sure he was careful, never doing anything that he knew could mess him up too bad. But he didn't act like he was in some sort of protective, plastic bubble either. He wanted to enjoy his life. Every little bit of it, every single second. He didn't want to spend his time worrying over every stupid bruise, knick, cut or scrape.

He just wanted to be a normal teenager doing normal things.

Even after the incident involving himself and Maddie, he still felt that way about things; despite how close he had come to dying. But now, he wasn't so sure. It wasn't just the occasional cut or scrape he had to worry about here. It wasn't just a random bump or a bruise. No, now he had to worry about being shot or clubbed with a huge wrench or stabbed or any manner of other things that were too horrible to imagine. Death had always been something that lingered just at the edge of his mind before.

But not anymore. No Advate meant no way to enhance his clotting deficiency. And that meant his chances of surviving a 'game' where the only way home was to kill were very, very slim.

It was an unsettling and chilling realization for him.

After hearing those gunshots earlier while they were near the Quarters Module and then witnessing his sister fight for her life against that black girl; it was all he could do to keep those thoughts of dying _just_ at the edge of his mind. Though he pretended otherwise, he actually understood why Maddie was acting the way she was. He got why she was willing to throw herself in harm's way to keep him safe. He knew why she decided to think the way she did, why she was willing to…to go _that_ far.

Because she knew that in spite of the brave face he put on, he was afraid to die.

In truth, a small part of him was _happy_ that Maddie thought that way; though it absolutely sickened him. The fact that she would willing to go as far as killing to keep him alive filled him with a kind of disgusting relief. He was reluctant to believe that any part of him could think that way. Yet, was it wrong of him to feel that way?

Should he really be ashamed?

It wasn't like he should be forced to just roll over and die because of his hemophilia. He had just as much a right to live as anyone else trapped on the platform, maybe more. Didn't he deserve to have a chance to live as long he could considering the misfortune inflicted upon him by his defective genes? Why should he settle on letting his all-too-brief life come to an end at the hands of some undeserving, desperate student who was probably some kind of rich spoiled brat or gang thug? How was _that_ fair to him?

He gazed back down at his slumbering sister, so at peace and calm on his lap. That earlier anger over Maddie's suggestion that they play to win surged. His eyes narrowed. His teeth ground together irritably. Dark thoughts became darker.

Why not let Maddie fight for him? Why not let her take the chances and risks for once? Why not let her face the wrenches and the knives and the bullets? Why not let _her_ face death this time? She owed him! If it wasn't for him, she would…she would've been…

A sliver of a memory flashed in his head. Scowling faces, breath hot and heavy with alcohol. Hands pulling and tearing at his sister's clothes. A scream roaring from his mouth as he ran toward her. A fist to his face. A knee to his gut. Being forced to watch an unthinkable humiliation as he struggled against blacking out. A final, relentless beatdown that left him hovering near death.

Tears welled up slowly in his eyes as they widened in shame of what he'd been thinking earlier. How could he…? What made him think…? How could he see…? Why would he even…?

Eyes still locked on his twin's sleeping form, he leaned down and wrapped his trembling arms around her body; pulling her into a tight embrace. She immediately came to life, trying to push up; fearful that someone else had come to attack them. "Wha…?" was all she managed to get out before her voice was muted by his body. But he didn't care. He just held her close to him, no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel.

"An…Andy," she forced out, voice muffled by his abdomen and still struggling to brake his hold, "wh-what's wrong? What's…what's happened? Wh-why…why are you…"

But he just let the rest of her words fade away. How could he think of his sister like that? How could he ever think of using her to keep him alive? What was wrong with him? What was _happening_ to him? To _either_ of them?

As he continued to clutch Maddie close, the first tears finally fell from his eyes; but not from the memories that had assaulted him. Not from the fears that tormented him. Not even from the way he'd thought of using his sister to keep him alive.

No, the tears that fell were from a _new_ fear; a fear that the crazy death game would push him to think that way again. It was a fear that 'the Blitz', in the end, would force him to sacrifice Maddie to be the last one standing. And the chill that fear sent shivering up his spine only made him cling to his sister even harder.

* * *

**Boys, No. 08**

**LaTrey Johnson**

**"How to Handle an Unbelievable Truth"**

* * *

He glanced blankly at the chunky puddle of vomit that sat between him and the dead body. He'd rather look at the partially digested remains of his in-flight meal than spend another second staring at the ruined mess of torn, bloodied flesh, exposed skull and gelatinous brain matter that was once the body's face. The scent of the mess he had made intermingled with the humid, salty sea air which, in turn, had intermingled with the awful, old smell of evacuated bowels and other bodily fluids. His stomach threatened to lurch every time he tried to take a breath.

But then, that was the effect that the scent of death had.

LaTrey didn't recognize the face in front of him. How could he when there wasn't anything _left_ to identify? What he _did_ recognize, however, was the one that had made him vomit in the first place. Unlike the other, it was fully intact except for the perfect, round hole in the center of her forehead.

Yet even with the pale, swollen nature of it and the thin trails of blood from the bullet hole. Even with the deep, blue-black bruises and bloodied lips. Even with it splotched irregularly with dry, yellowish-white stains; he would always recognize the face of his French teacher, Mrs. Chase.

As much as he wanted to deny it, he also recognized the uncovered curve of her breasts. The front of the blouse was violently ripped open; the bra underneath pushed up to her shoulders and neck. There were similar spots of yellow-white splashed across the swell of her chest, the bra and the tattered fabric of her top. The upped half of her body was all he was able to see. The lower part of it was buried beneath the other bodies hastily thrown atop her. He was grateful for that because he didn't want to see any more evidence of her…violation.

As unthinkable as it was, his French teacher hadn't just been murdered in cold blood. She had also suffered the worst possible humiliation before that. Mrs. Chase – sweet, kind and possessing a wonderful sense of humor – had been raped.

The realization of her rape and murder wasn't what made him throw-up, however. It was the sudden recognition of just what the dried, yellowish substance on her face and chest was. That was when the contents of his stomach came spilling up out of his mouth.

It wasn't like she'd been the only teacher on the trip. There'd been nine others, ranging in ages and appearance; personalities and views. Each one of them was there to represent and chaperone the students from the ten schools involved in the essay contest. During the Orientation, through the fear and horror he'd succumbed to, he remembered disjointedly wondering why the teachers hadn't been present. Why they hadn't been there to curtail the madness descending on them. The fact that he had wandered across nine other bodies strewn haphazardly atop or around that of his teacher pretty much answered those questions. But it didn't answer the other.

What kind of sick monsters would do this?

LaTrey kept his eyes focused on the vomit despite the unsettling churn in his stomach. He _had_ to keep focused on it. Otherwise, he wasn't sure how much longer his sanity would hold up in light of the scene before him. The repulsive scent in the air wasn't helping things, though. Neither was the partially enclosed space that the corpses were heaped in nor the dull yellowish-orange glow of the exterior lights they were bathed in. It gave everything in the small area a sick, diseased kind of hue; the kind that conjured up images of those 2012, end of the world documentaries his father liked to watch on the History Channel but still dismissed as bullshit.

Considering that he was living through his own personal apocalypse at the moment, he didn't find the parallel all that humorous.

At least the sun had already set. The heat and sunlight was going to make this section of the platform the last place anyone wanted to come across. He wished _he_ had never come across it. Then he wouldn't have found out about…

He let the thought fade sadly.

Gaze still forced downward, he pushed away from the sight at a very deliberate and meticulous pace. Quiet and careful, that was what he needed to be. Invisible. Remain unseen and he would have a much better chance at keeping himself alive.

_Everyone else will be going after the ones they can find, the ones too stupid to hide themselves away, _he thought as he continued to push away from the dead bodies. He wasn't dumb – or naïve – enough to believe that none of the other students wouldn't play the game to win.

Who wouldn't want to go home and escape the hell they'd been kidnapped into?

No, he knew better. Desperation must already be setting in by now. Friends, classmates, even lovers and family…that Omatsu woman was right; none of that would matter in the end. Those Japanese bastards had dangled a prize apple of life in front of students who were starving to avoid death. They knew what it would do to all the kids they gathered for this so-called contest. Hell, _he_ knew what it would do. After everything he'd put up with at school…well, it was just easier to say that he didn't have very much confidence in the kindness of others.

With the exception of Mrs. Chase, everyone else in his life seemed content to just step all over him or to completely ignore the fact that he existed. It was a long list of people that felt that way about him. And at the top of that list was his father.

Eyes locked onto the deck as he continued to push away from the bodies piled in front of him, he didn't try to hold back the feelings of loneliness and despair that had washed over him. Questioning his father's seeming lack of concern for his well being always changed his mood no matter where he was. There was nothing that he shared in common with the man. Even their appearance didn't match up. There was much more of his mother in him than his father. Her smooth and lissome features definitely showed up more on his face than his dad's strong and rugged ones; her deep brown eyes, slender cheeks and caramel-colored skin mirrored in his face. He was more a part of her than he was of that man who _called_ himself his father.

Abandonment.

That was what he felt whenever he thought of her. His mother. The woman who had left him in the care of a man who didn't. But he didn't hate her. He could _never_ hate her.

It wasn't her fault that all of this had happened. It wasn't her fault that his father was so emotionally bottled up that his love for her was hidden behind a wall of ice. It wasn't her fault that he became a ghost to his family, spending more time working at that damned plant than spending time at home with them.

It just wasn't her fault in any way he could think of. It was all his father's doing. All of it.

Afterall, the man prided himself on being a model of calm and reserve. He hated that about him. He hated that his father was such a patient man. It was that patience; that calm and reserve that had driven his mother into the arms of another man.

His father's composure and logic-minded thinking had created a rift between them, which led her to sleep around and in turn led to a very bitter divorce about twenty-two years down the road. Jason had only been eleven then. Just three years ago. And from that day forward, he had felt completely dead on the inside in regards to his so-called father.

All because of the man's inability to truly allow himself to live in a world of warmth and emotion. All because his father thought it better to hide his feelings behind a wall of indifference and reason instead of expressing them to the woman he was supposed to love. Never once, after the divorce and he had gained custody of him, did his father show any hint of the kindness and compassion that his mother had.

Maybe that was why he was so drawn to Mrs. Chase. Because she reminded him of his mother. Because, unlike his father, she actually cared about him.

His eyes flickered unconsciously to the pale, dead face of his teacher. They fell just as quickly when his stomach tightened. How could those assholes do that to such kind and sweet person like Mrs. Chase? The only person in his life who gave a damn about him? What did she ever do to them? He felt bad about the other teachers too, but he didn't know them like he knew her. To see her like that…to _find_ her like that…it was…it was…

He again let the thought fade into nothing. There wasn't anything he could do for her now. There was nothing he could do for any of them…except survive. Live until the end and make off the crazy death trap the platform was sure to become.

Someone had to tell the proper authorities. Someone had to make sure these sick bastards paid for what they did to Mrs. Chase; for what they did to everyone brought here! It would be his reason for staying alive. It would be his way of getting revenge for his murdered teacher.

He would live to make sure that an entire nation of murderers suffered.

LaTrey closed his eyes as tight as he could when they threatened to look upon the gruesome corpse of his teacher yet again. Tears welled up at the grisly image branded in the black of his mind. He tried to focus on his movements to wipe it away.

He knew he had to be getting closer to the alley he'd come through. It couldn't be that far away now. He had to be close. He had to be! He couldn't bear to see her face again!

_Why…why did she have to die? Why Mrs. Chase and not some other bastard here? WHY HER YOU MOTHERFU –?_

The angry thought ended abruptly as his back came up against a wall. Eyes still closed, he reached around anxiously to either side. When he'd first happened upon the gruesome scene and saw the bodies, he dropped both his GPS and canteen of water. He had been taking a sip to get rid of the dryness in his throat while following the directions on the handheld to get to his chest. What it had led him to instead was like something out of a horror movie.

He couldn't understand why the smell in the air didn't given away what he was about to walk into. Had he been too wound up in following the directions on his GPS to notice it? Or had his mind just convinced him it was a normal scent on the platform; or maybe even just a much stronger smell from the churning ocean? That was possible. Afterall, he'd come across similar disgusting scents while being at or near the beach back home in Texas.

Whatever the reason, he'd walked unknowingly into what was nothing more than a charnel house and gotten his worst shock since being told the why they had all been brought the oil rig by Omatsu; seeing the cold, lifeless face of Mrs. Chase. How long had he stared at her unmoving body before finally throwing up everything he'd eaten on the plane? How long did he stare into the wide, expressionless eyes of someone he came to think of as a friend and confidante?

He couldn't keep himself from opening his eyes again to look at her. The expression of absolute agony permanently painted across her once-smooth and lively features twisted his stomach back into knots. Saliva flooded into his mouth. He didn't try to fight it or hold it back.

LaTrey leaned roughly to the side and heaved up…nothing. For the next few minutes, he went through the motions of retching his guts up. It was a horrible feeling; the uncontrollable spasms that threw his body forward while absolutely nothing came up from his stomach and out of his mouth. The only thing falling to the deck was a few tears, some snot and a lot of spit and drool. He couldn't see how _this_ was any worse than vomiting.

Finally, his body calmed down enough to pull himself upright. Sucking air in only though his mouth, he took a few deep breaths while leaning back against the warm wall. He glanced up into the black of the starless, night sky. The clouds had been gathering all evening and the only sun he'd seen was when it was setting. A few had been black – indicating that they were heavy with rain – while the majority was gray.

Would it rain tonight?

Rolling his head to the side to avoid looking at the bodies, he searched for the GPS and canteen. It didn't take long to find them. Both them were sitting in a puddle of remaining water from his canteen. He frowned before reaching for them. His hand wrapped around the damp strap and pulled the plastic container toward him. Just from how easily it slid to him, he could tell that it was pretty much empty; which meant he was going to have to put himself in harm's way to get more before he could even think about finding a place to hide.

"Gr-great," he grumbled, raising the nearly empty canteen up onto his lap. Releasing the strap, he bent over a little further than before to reach for the GPS. He hoped the thing was waterproof. If there was one thing he couldn't afford, it was for the thing to be damaged. He needed some way to protect himself and without a functioning GPS, it would be impossible to find his chest. The weapon inside it was important. So was the food.

His stomach lurched in an unsettling way at the thought of eating.

Choking down what felt like another dry heave, he picked up the GPS and turned it over in his hand a couple of times to inspect it. Most of the gray-black plastic exterior was spotted with dots of water droplets while the back of the small device was completely covered and slick. His stomach churned nervously as he placed a thumb on a side button and pressed it in. The three seconds it took for the screen to come to life seemed more like three hours to him.

He released a low sigh. At least the GPS still worked. That was all that really mattered now. He needed to find his chest and then get to someplace – any place – safe to wait out 'the Blitz' while everyone else on the platform tore each other apart. It was good a plan as any and it guaranteed that he would make it to the end alive.

As long as he didn't do anything stupid.

Lowering the GPS, LaTrey picked up his canteen and slung it across his chest. He looked down at his feet so that he wouldn't have to see the corpses. Once it was in place, he took hold of his GPS once again and pushed up from the deck unsteadily. Using the wall as support, he leaned against it as he raised the small handheld about halfway up and gazed at it.

He clicked the side button a couple of times until he came to the map screen and then the arrow keys on the face of the device to scroll through the available multicolored floors until the flashing dot indicating his destination point appeared. After studying it for a moment or two, he found himself frowning. According to what the GPS was relaying to him, he _was_ in the area where his chest was located. But that didn't seem to make any sense. There was nothing in the small recess but…bodies.

How in the world could the thing be indicating that this was where his weapon chest was? It just wasn't making any sense! Maybe the GPS _was_ broken; damaged by the water from the canteen that had spilled all over it. What else could it be?

LaTrey fiddled with the buttons on the GPS again. He scrolled between all the different sections of the oil rig; double-checked the menu screen and his waypoint settings. When that gave him the same results, he deleted the waypoint and reentered it. The device spent a few seconds recalculating a path from his new location to the weapon chest. When the new direction appeared, his eyebrows rose in surprise.

_This…this can't be right, _he thought. _Why does this stupid thing keep saying that the chest is here? The only things here are…are the bodies and they –_

His eyes widened.

_It… It couldn't be. I mean…they wouldn't…_

The thought trailed off as he reluctantly raised his eyes from the GPS. His heart was beating faster and faster. His mind was whirling. The pit of his stomach had gone cold at the thought of what it meant if the GPS wasn't malfunctioning.

His gaze fell on the ten lifeless bodies lying in a messy sort of pile in the center of the enclosed space. Stomach rolling at the grisly sight, he fought to keep himself from erupting into another bout of dry heaves. The half-naked corpse of Mrs. Chase was at the bottom of two other bodies, dead eyes seeming accusing and pleading at the same time.

He resisted the urge to close his eyes or look away. His body was shaking and his heart was racing. Tears had reappeared in his eyes. But they weren't for his teacher. Not this time.

No, the tears were for what he was going to have to do. He was… He was going to have to… He was going to have to…dig through a pile of corpses to find out if his chest was actually where the GPS was indicating.

LaTrey swallowed hard as he suddenly become very aware of his surroundings.

_A… A pile…_

The thought crushed down on him. His head felt like it was going to swell and explode. A single thought. Two words. Everything else was blank except for them. _A… A pile…_ It was followed by more thoughts. They echoed oddly in the dark of his mind.

_A… A pile of bodies. But piled on…what? Each…other? Or…on something…else? A pile of bodies… A pile of bodies… A pile of bodies… A pile of…_

The disjointed, strange thoughts continued to loop over and over in his head. His vision became tunneled. His eyes widened unconscionably. They became a rumble in his mind that grew louder and louder.

_A… A pile of bodies. But piled on…what? Each…other? Or…on something…else? A pile of bodies… A pile of bodies… A pile of bodies… A pile of…_

He couldn't stop them. They were taking on a life of their own. Realization, he facing a grim realization and his mind was refusing to accept the obvious truth that lay before it. He was vaguely aware of the weak feeling in his knees.

But was it real or imagined?

Something… Something seemed wrong…in his head. The world around him spun wildly for a moment. Everything became a blur yellow-orange and black. Things seemed to be unraveling. Everything was…

He wavered but the wall behind him kept him from falling back to the deck. He was known for rational thinking. But nothing he had witnessed, nothing he had heard _seemed_ rational. It was all so…so… So unreal!

It was rational for him to be one of twenty-nine finalists for a nationwide French Essay contest; thereby earning a trip to Paris. The work he had put into writing that essay was not something imagined, that he knew for sure. However, what followed those very real events seemed hazy and nightmarish.

How was it logical, in any sense of the word, for him to also be drugged, kidnapped and forced to participate in an absolutely insane competition where only one person could win? Did it _really_ make sense for someone like him to be picked out for some crazy kill or be killed battle? The odds of that occurring had to be…had to be…astronomical!

And what about the odds of Mrs. Chase being chosen too? Of her being raped, murdered and thrown under a pile of other corpses? Did it even make sense for her to be here? With him?

The world around him heaved and twitched, distorting into dark splotches of muted colors.

Was _he_ real? Was he even here? The entire thing seemed like something out of a nightmare. Could he be dreaming? Was he still on the plane?

A bitter, dry laugh croaked up from his throat and out of his mouth.

No, no, no. It didn't make any sense, did it? The trusted American Government sending its children, its future leaders off to some derelict in the South China Sea to die because…because of a few bad apples? Apples tasted good…especially the green ones. Was he a green apple? Of course he was! Green apples were good. They were _good_ apples.

And if he was a _good_ apple that meant he wasn't really standing in some eerie section of the platform staring at a pile of corpses that may or may not be hiding some imaginary box with some imaginary weapon and food inside it. Right? _Right?_

Of course he was right!

_I… I'm not really here… I…I'm still…on the plane… We'll be…landing soon… Paris… Paris…_

His foot took a shaky step forward.

_Not…real… None of this…is real… Dream…nightmare… I'm not…here…_

He pulled away from the wall and took another step.

_Mrs. Chase… She…she's not here… On the plane… Still…on…the…plane…_

Another step. And another. And another.

_The…bodies… They aren't… They aren't really…here… The smell… Not real… Just a…dream… Yeah… A dream…_

The corpses grew closer and closer.

_Dreams… I con… I control…the dream… The smell… Not nasty… Roses… I smell…roses…_

He took a deep breath through is nose as the bodies loomed in his eyes. His mind distorted the truth of the grotesque reality drifting up his nostrils. The scent of a thousand fresh roses flooded his senses. A smile creeped its way across his lips.

_See…? Just a…dream… Dead bodies… They don't…smell like roses… But here…they do… In…my…dream…?_

He reached a hand out. He flexed his fingers. The skin pulled taut and the stitched up incision on it burned into awareness. But he ignored it; banished it. Pain had no place in his dream.

_In my dream…there are no bodies…_

He took hold of a cold, dead arm.

_Cold… What's cold…to touch…? Rocks…? No…ice… Ice is…cold… Yeah…pieces of ice… That's…that's what…I'm…moving… Ice…_

He grabbed the lifeless arm with his other hand and pulled.

_Moving…ice… That's all… Just ice… Ice that smells like…roses…?_

He gave another good tug and the body slipped free. It crashed to the deck with fleshy thud. A new scent wafted up from the corpse and he gagged. The pungent odor of old piss and feces was overpowering. His mind desperately clawed at the delusion which had become reality.

_No… No…! Not piss and shit… I would…never…dream of…that…! Some… Something else… Per…perfume… Yeah… Perfume… Paris… Roses and perfumes… That's what…it is… Roses and perfumes…_

He took another deep breath and smiled. Stepping over the corpse, LaTrey reached out for another body and took hold. Getting a good grip, he gave it a hard yank. It slid free and fell to the deck; leaving a messy brown smear along the metal as he pulled it away from the mound. The pungent odor of death and defecation rose up around him again. But he just smiled.

_Ice… Roses… Perfumes… They smell…nice…_

Continuing with his task, LaTrey wore that odd smile as he remained blissfully unaware of the grisly reality taking shape around him.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1st**__**AMERICAN BLITZ**_

Picked on since he was eight and bullied from nearly the first day he entered high school, the only other constant in Casey Fuller's life – besides pain and humiliation – was his childhood friend Leslie Thurston. Always there to defend him, Leslie was at times more like an overprotective tomboy of an older sister than his best friend. But that was fine with him because their friendship was more important than anything else. And they never kept secrets from each other.

That was before she met Jimmy Turner, however.

Now things between them were strained and he had no idea why. All he knew was that his longtime friend was dating the same guy who had beaten on him relentlessly almost since the first day set foot in Grand Terrace High School. And even though the abuse had stopped from the moment the two hooked up, the cost of losing Leslie was _too_ high a price for him. On top of that, Casey had to worry about surviving alone in a deadly contest that seemed beyond belief.

If he couldn't find Leslie soon, his death wouldn't be a possibility…it would be a certainty.

**Coming soon, "Emptiness and",**

**Chapter 15 of **_**1st**__**AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

It's been a long, strange road getting to the end of this chapter. The 'Summer of Hell' would be a more accurate description of how things went for me. You see, I went up to Houston to go visit my two sisters for the summer. It seemed like a good idea at the time. And up to a certain point, it was good.

Until everything just went…wrong.

First, I was crippled with one of the worst cases of writer's block that I've ever had. No creative ideas for nearly a month and a half. For me, that was _too_ long. I usually have new ideas popping into my head on a regular basis. It gets pretty crowded up their sometimes. But not this time. I was completely barren, devoid of any literary thought.

And it sucked.

I just wasn't used to the quiet in my head. Fortunately, it didn't last the entire time I was up there. Eventually, I was able to begin work on the second _Dramatis Personae_ chapter. Everything was proceeding well until my wonderful HP Pavillion DV4 laptop just up and died during a simple restart. In one crappy afternoon, everything I had worked so hard on became trapped on the computer's hard drive – which, of course, was inaccessible because I couldn't turn the damn thing on. For the last half of the month I was in Houston, I bounced between anger, depression and my own version of a 'recovery mode'.

Long and short of it? This was a hellish chapter to finish. But I did, thanks to some unusual kindness from my family and a new computer that kindness bestowed upon me. So now, I stand upon the threshold to finally post _Dramatis Personae Opening Curtain_ and continue where I left off with _**1**__**st**__** American Blitz**_. I'm not sure how many readers I've lost due to those unfortunate and unforeseen problems, but I promise those who remain that I will never give up on the story. I swore to myself that I would finish this one and I plan to do just that.

So, I hope that the long wait for this chapter is worth it. I labored long and hard on this, went to hell and back to get it posted up here today. I'm sorry if it isn't to everyone's liking. And please excuse any mistakes that I might have missed; especially in the last section (LaTrey's Chapter).

I hope that the characterization and plot are still up to my usual quality. Please enjoy everyone!

Ciao!

Terryll


	26. Emptiness and

**1st AMERICAN BLITZ**

* * *

**CHAPTER 15**

**Boys, No. 05**

**Casey Fuller**

**"Emptiness and"**

* * *

Tugging on the thin fabric of his sweat-stained t-shirt again for the umpteenth time, Casey pushed further down the humid service corridor. His canteen thumped lightly against his hip as he tried to make every step he took as quiet as possible. But despite that, and the low rumble of the rig's engines, he could still hear the sound of his tennis squeaking against the filthy metal of the deck beneath his feet. It was a noise that rung louder and louder in his ears with every step. But he tried to put it out of his mind. There were more important things for him to worry about right now.

He took a deep breath of the damp and stuffy air as he continued to make his way down the tight hallway. Though the grimy light fixtures along the wall only gave off a weak, saturated glow; it seemed like the illumination coming from them added to the already stifling heat pressing against him. In truth, he wasn't sure how much more of it he could take.

Instinctively, he increased the frequency of his shirt-tugging. It wasn't much, but it helped a little. The strangling heat was somewhat easier to bear, allowing him to continue on his solitary trek through the lower decks of the _Kasanagi-Etō_. And in the end, that mattered more than anything else.

While his left was occupied with making sure he didn't pass out from heat exhaustion, his right hand worked the minute controls on the GPS handheld. The perspiration on his hands was making it difficult but he managed regardless. Stopping for a moment, he took a long, deliberate gaze at the display screen then looked up to gage his surroundings; searching along the smudged, oily walls for any sign that would indicate he was near one of the platform's auxiliary control points.

Pausing in cooling himself, he wiped the back of his hand across his sweaty brow in an effort to keep the perspiration from falling into his eyes as he continued to scan the walls. It was a heavy and weary motion that mirrored just how he was feeling. _I know it's here,_ he thought tiredly. _Somewhere around here. It's almost the same design as the one Dad worked on for that Coleman company. C'mon, c'mon! I just _can't_ be wrong about this!_ Still seeing nothing on the walls in the dim, narrow hallway, Casey took another couple of steps further down before stopping to look around again.

_Auxiliary control's gotta be down here. One of them, anyway. If I remember it right, there's supposed to be at least five or more on the lower levels and I can't _go_ any lower without needing scuba gear._

Wiping his hand across his forehead again, he then maneuvered it down to another thick strap that was cutting into his chest. Slipping a thumb underneath and wrapping three fingers around the top of it, he gave a good pull and tried to readjust its position. The backpack probably wouldn't have been that much of a burden if it wasn't carrying everything he had found in his weapon chest.

Including a crossbow and the bolts it used as ammunition.

With a groan, he made a quick decision to just take it off instead. His frustration was building and he couldn't afford to get frustrated. He needed a clear head to do what he had planned. Besides, it would probably be a good idea to take a short break. In fact, he was pretty sure he hadn't stopped moving since he was shoved out of the briefing room by those soldiers; save for the minute or so he'd taken to fill his canteen full of water from a restroom faucet.

Taking a hasty glance up and down the corridor, Casey got a good grip on the heavy duty strap and pulled the backpack over his head. It felt like someone had just lifted a boulder off his chest. He took another deep breath of the stale, musty air as he lowered the pack to his side and leaned against the wall wearily. It really did seem like he'd been walking forever. Maybe that could explain why he was feeling so lightheaded and nauseous. Then again, he _could_ just be hungry. But with all the heat he'd endured getting to where he was, he really couldn't count out the possibility of heat exhaustion.

Reaching down to his canteen, he gripped it weakly with both hands and raised it to his mouth. Unscrewing the cap, he pooped it off and took a long pull from the warm plastic container. The water was lukewarm but that didn't matter. As hot as it was, the liquid felt like it came from a snowy mountain spring as it sloshed down his throat. He wanted to keep drinking, take down all the water in his canteen. But he forced himself to stop after four long gulps. He had to conserve as much water as possible if he intended to continue further down the service corridor.

Lowering the canteen and recapping it, Casey settled the squarish container down by his side and then raised a hand to wipe at his forehead again. It seemed that was all he was doing…sweating. He really needed to hurry up and find that control point so he could get out of the hot hell he'd forced himself into. Even if the reason why he had done so in the first place was noble, this risk alone made more than foolish; especially considering the circumstances.

A cold shudder made his shoulders tremble as he thought back to everything that had happened.

Much like everyone else, he had awakened groggy, disoriented and draped in what seemed impenetrable darkness with a sharp, biting pain in his right hand. He remembered nothing immediately before waking. His last full memory was of being on the private jet, eating and thinking of way to approach Leslie so they could talk while stifling yawns. He didn't even remember when he'd fallen asleep.

When his eyes opened again, the plane was gone and there was nothing but pitch black to greet them. In retrospect, he was pretty sure that the food – and maybe even the drinks – on the plane had been drugged with something to knock them out so they could easily be transported to the offshore platform. But then, figuring out _how_ they got there was the last thing on his mind after waking up in the briefing room.

Darkness and confusion; his return to consciousness was that and not much else. The moments which followed were full of feelings and smells, undecipherable sights and panicked sounds. The discordant chorus continued until the door opened and booted feet entering forced the cacophony to die down. It was then that they were confronted with the reality of their situation.

Like many others, he sat in a daze amidst the black surrounding him while the woman flanked by armed soldiers handed out warnings against disruptive behavior and speaking out of turn before she had the lights turned on. The silence that had settled over the room as she spoke was as eerie as it was deafening. Nobody spoke, nobody even seemed to move. The stillness surrounding him was almost as bad as the silence.

As soon as her words ended, the lights came on; abrupt and blinding. He remembered shielding his eyes on instinct. For some odd reason, that was when his thoughts finally sharpened enough to remember Leslie and how much he was worried about her. But before he could blink his vision clear to look for her, the woman's first rule was broken; done so by a voice he knew better than he wished.

Dropping his hand, he turned in the direction of the outburst just in time to blurrily see Jimmy Turner rifle-butted in the side of the head by a man dressed in military fatigues. At any other time, he might have enjoyed seeing the boy who bullied him so relentlessly at school – until Leslie confronted him about it – being treated in pretty much the same way. But this wasn't one of those times. What he witnessed in that moment was horrific, pure and simple. And it shook him to his core.

What had been done was absolutely _unthinkable_!

The act was so quick and violent that Casey had pretty much forgotten about everything else on his mind, content to just sit there slack-jawed and wide-eyed. He probably would've remained that way if Leslie hadn't responded to the brutal action when she did. Hearing her terror-stricken outcry didn't ease his nerves any at what he'd witnessed but it did fill him with a small sense of relief at knowing that she was okay. It also helped to snap him back to reality.

Watching her struggle against the other students attempting to hold her back in an effort to keep her from being pummeled like the boy now sprawled across the metal floor filled him with a sharp longing to be at her side. She'd been crying openly, green eyes searching over the motionless form of her boyfriend for any signs that he was still alive. That was aggravating to him; watching Leslie show concern for a boy that deserved none.

Despite the situation, he couldn't – and wouldn't – feel that way about Jimmy Turner. The boy had taken too much delight in torturing him on practically a daily basis. While he didn't take any joy in seeing what had happened to him, he didn't feel sorry for the jerk either. The only thing that really bothered him was seeing how much it hurt Leslie.

Casey raised his hand and wiped the back of it across his brow again, turning his attention back to an uncertain present. After a quick look up and down the empty corridor, he released a quick sigh. He had to remember where he was. Getting lost in thought like that could get him killed…fast.

Going back to tugging on his t-shirt, he leaned his head back against the grungy wall exhaustedly. It seemed like it was even hotter now that he had decided to stop to rest. He suspected that the lower levels of the platform would be warm, expected it actually. But _this_ was just way beyond fucked up.

By shutting down the air conditioning well before they'd been brought to the rig, their kidnappers had effectively made it almost impossible to survive down here for any good amount of time. Remaining where he was – or going any further, for that matter – would only increase the risk of him having a heat stroke and passing out, or worse just collapsing to the deck dead. In other words, the entire situation seemed to carry a much more sinister purpose to it.

_This sucks, _he thought despairingly. _With the way it feels down here, going any further might just end up killing me. It's just too fucking hot down here. Omatsu, those soldiers, they're all just complete bastards for doing this. They _knew_ what they were doing when they disabled the AC!_ Looking around the dim corridor with tired eyes, he wondered just how close to the engines of the rig he was. There was no doubt in his mind that what he was looking for would be in the Power Module of the _Kasanagi-Etō_. There was no other place the Ballast Control Points _could_ be.

Every type of offshore drilling platform that his father had ever had a hand in designing always included auxiliary control points just in case the main systems failed. There were usually three tiers – primary, secondary and tertiary or auxiliary. He was already aware that the primary and secondary systems for the rig would be inaccessible to him; the primary being the one's on the platform's bridge and the secondary probably being guarded by soldiers. That left the auxiliary control points in the engineering section of the platform. While he was pretty sure that there was a good chance they might be guarded as well, he had no choice but to check. He had to exhaust every option open to him. Yet now, he had a funny feeling he already knew the answer to that.

_This was done on purpose._

As strange as the thought sounded, it was the only thing that made any sense. There was no one guarding the control points. He wouldn't find any soldiers down here. Why _would_ there be when it was so hot on the lower decks of the Power Module that anyone dumb enough to come down here would most likely pass out from the heat alone? Disabling the rig's air conditioning was as brilliant as it was aggravating. Afterall, why waste limited resources and risk potential damage to important systems keeping the facility afloat when you could get the platform itself to do the job for you?

All of a sudden, Casey felt very empty and even more worn out than before. He slouched against the wall back-first and slid down it to the deck next to his backpack. Everything he'd planned had been riding on him reaching the auxiliary ballast control point. He had worked out the basics of his plan while hunting for the storage chest. It all seemed so simple. Locate the auxiliary control points on the lower decks, use them to destabilize the platform, sabotage the power systems and then make his way back up top to find Leslie.

Yeah, real simple.

More than anything else, Leslie was the primary focus of his plan. She was the sole reason he had decided on his current course of rather reckless actions. If it wasn't for her, he'd swear he was suffering from some form of insanity for coming up with such a dangerous scheme that he wasn't sure would even work.

A childhood friend, it felt as though he'd known the tomboyish girl almost forever. Thick and thin, she'd been there for him; always defending him and fighting his battles. He owed Leslie more than he knew he could ever pay back. That was why he was doing this.

Even if things between them were more complicated now than before, she was still the only thing that mattered to him in this insane 'game' they'd been thrown into. Her…_boyfriend_ Jimmy was less than an afterthought. Ever since he'd come into her life, things between them had soured; especially in recent weeks. He was sure that Jimmy had been responsible for Leslie's change in attitude and mood.

Slanting his head back against the nasty wall, Casey groaned under his breath. It wasn't as if she'd turned against him or anything like that. She still stood by his side and got in the face of anyone who had a problem with him…including her loser boyfriend. They still hung out together whenever she could spare the time, which was split between her family, her part-time job and the jerk-ass she'd taken a liking to. In truth, he wished it were as simple as her being a total bitch to him. At least that way, he could blame it all on Jimmy.

That, as it turned out, was the problem.

He couldn't blame anything on him. He wasn't trying to come between him and Leslie in any way that he could see. Hell, she'd even made him _apologize_ for treating him like a punching bag. The boy basically grumbled his way through it, but the fact that he'd done it at all showed just how much he apparently cared about her. And that pretty much meant that her new, closed-off nature couldn't be laid directly at his feet.

_So, what is it then,_ he inquired, thoughts agonized. _What has her so worried and scared that she can't open up to _me_ of all people? What's so wrong in her life that she feels the need to keep me at arm's length? I just don't understand._ He began to lightly bang the back of his head against the wall. _Her, this place, why we're here, I JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND ANY OF IT!_

Despite the heat threatening to drown him with its hellish humidity, Casey pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned forward until his chin was resting on them. His determination to put his plan into motion was still in place. Yet, he felt so…empty. It was like he was vacant on the inside. Was it because of Leslie? How she had shut him out of her life? A small spark of emotion surged at those tormenting thoughts.

Tears forming almost out of nowhere, he closed his eyes and thought back to happier times in an effort to keep the misery and sorrow that'd been slowly eating away at him at bay.

_**-O-**_

"_Hey Casey," a jovial voice called from across the room._

_He looked up from the computer screen without surprise and directed a sideways glance to the wiry, red-haired girl perched in the sill of his now-opened window. "You know," he began, returning his attention to the screen full schematics, "my mom is gonna be pissed if she finds out that you're still climbing that trellis to get into my room. Didn't she already jump your case about it once, Leslie?"_

_Feigning a look of surprise as she lowered herself into his room, Leslie Thurston smiled as she sheepishly replied, "Oh crap! She did, didn't she? When the hell did my memory get so bad?"_

"_Dunno. Probably from the last _two_ times you fell off the trellis and hit your head on the ground," he said with a brief laugh. "Seriously, just how many times has your head been stitched up now; two, three times? Jeez, what's it made of? Concrete?"_

_Leslie laughed as well as she made her way over to his bed and threw herself down on it stomach-first. "Hm…lost count. Besides, _I_ happen to have three older brothers, for your information," she emphasized. "So I'm kind of used to getting dropped on my head. And…getting stitched back up when things don't go quite as they planned. What's _your_ excuse?"_

_Casey just grinned without turning to face her._

"I'm_ just too smart," he replied smugly._

"_Ohhh," she crooned. "Too smart, huh?"_

"_Yup."_

"_Alright smart-guy," Leslie chided. "You've got a big brain, I'll give you that. But if I'm not mistaken, you tried to use it against Jimmy Turner once or twice. And…how'd that work out for you again?"_

_At the mention of that name, Casey's hand froze on the mouse. His other, almost instinctively, reached up to the browning bruise around his right eye. It was the aftermath of his most recent pummeling at the hands of that asshole bully at school. And it was something he was trying very hard to forget about._

"_About as well as it usually does," he grunted sourly, eyes still locked on the flat-panel monitor. "Man, way to kill the mood, Leslie. What, no puppies for you to kick today?"_

"_Nuh-uh," she responded nonchalantly, "just you I'm afraid."_

_He sighed loud enough for her to hear._

"_Jerk."_

"_Bitch," she called out just as quickly._

_Almost immediately afterward, they both began to laugh. Turning from the computer screen, he watched as she rolled onto her back and kicked her long legs against the side of his bed. The warmth of spring had finally liberated Bandon from that typical Oregon winter he'd liked but Leslie hated. So, it was unsurprising to find her wearing a pair of thigh-length denim cut-offs, flip-flops and a sleeveless t-shirt. Though they'd been friends from practically the day they were born, he still found it uncomfortable to see her showing that much skin. It was going to be even worse when the beach and pools around town reopened; considering that her favorite swimsuit was a two-piece, green bikini that showed enough of her to make him embarrass himself if he didn't stay in cold water._

_It never ceased to amaze him that for all her tomboy ways, Leslie Thurston was the biggest girly-girl he knew – though, he'd never say _that_ to her face._

"_So," she said, breaking the laughter, "has he been fucking with you lately? Since he gave you that shiner, I mean."_

_His face fell as he pulled his eyes away from her still-kicking legs and turned back to the monitor. "No," he grumbled under his breath. "And do we _really_ have to keep bringing him up, Leslie? I was actually having fun for a moment."_

_There was a light rustling of fabric behind him, indicating that she had shifted her position on his bed again. "Whatever," she returned; her tone suddenly serious. "Quit lying and just answer my question. Has he messed with you or not?"_

"_You DO remember what 'fun' is right," he questioned, ignoring her attempt to grill an answer out of him. "You know. That thing doesn't involve us talking about bullies who take delight kicking my ass on a daily basis? F-U-N? Fun? Ringing any bells? Jogging any memories?"_

"_Goddammit Casey!" she barked angrily. "This isn't a fucking joke to me! I'm seriously worried about you. Someone needs to do something about that dickheaded motherfucker!"_

"_You kiss your mother with that mouth?"_

"_Yeah," she replied with a bitter, none-too-merry laugh. "And I'm going to kick your ass with these feet if you don't give me a straight fucking answer!"_

_Casey groaned loudly as he turned to face her again, smart-aleck retort already forming on his lips…until he saw the expression she wore. Despite the threat she leveled only seconds before; he could see how troubled the look on her face was. It was pained. It was worried. Worse still…it was all too real._

"_I…" he paused to swallow what he was going to say. "I… Damn. I…don't…" Casey heaved a low sigh. How the hell could he be snarky with her when she looked like _that_? "Ye…yeah," he finished finally. "Yeah, he has."_

"_When?"_

"_About three days ago," he said. "He just pushed me around some, called me a 'pussy' and took my money again. Y'know, the same MO as usual."_

_Leslie pushed off the bed and stood up. The expression on her face was more pissed than worried now. "Yeah, I know," she uttered in a disgusted voice. "And I'm getting pretty fucking tired of it."_

"_Look," he began, pushing his chair away from the desk and in the red-haired girl's direction, "I know this sucks royally but I don't want you screwing with him. I'm not sure _what_ he'll do to you, girl or not. There's no telling what kind of fucked up life he's had and –"_

"_Doesn't matter," Leslie interrupted, folding her arms across her chest as she made for the open door to his room. "I'm done with seeing you coming home nearly every day looking like you just got trounced by Floyd Mayweather. It's time _someone_ actually did something about that waste of space! Him. Me. Tomorrow. If the school and your parents won't help you out, then _I _will!"_

_Jerking up out of his chair, he reached out and grabbed his friend by an arm. She stopped immediately, staring back at him with an unconcerned glance. He wished he could be as unworried as she apparently was. But he couldn't. He didn't want be!_

"_Leslie, I…"_

_Her hand closed around his and she nodded. "Don't worry, I'll be careful."_

_With that, she released his hand and gently pulled her arm away. Before Casey could say another word, she had already disappeared out the door and down the hall. A few moments after that, he heard the familiar sound of flip-flops striking against the back of her heels as she descended the carpeted stairs. He stood there, listening as she eventually greeted his mom – who had been in the kitchen making dinner – and then hastily tried to lie her way out of climbing the trellis when she confronted Leslie about how she'd gotten in to the house._

_He wanted laugh. He wanted to go down there and get her into more trouble like an annoying younger brother would do. But he just stood there instead._

_Feeling empty and dreading what would happen tomorrow._

_**-O-**_

Casey pulled his head up from his knees and wiped at both the sweat and tears running down his face. Not exactly the 'happy memory' he was looking for but it was better than what was on his mind a few minutes ago. The gritty reality of what was happening to both him and Leslie. He searched up and down the hallway again for any signs of life other than him and then returned to blankly staring at the wall across from him.

_I wonder where she's at, _he questioned desolately. _How she's doing? Is she still even… No. I can't _even_ start to think like that! Once I do, I'll…I'll…_ He let his thoughts trail off into nothing. Focusing on whether Leslie was alive or not wasn't the answer to any of his problems. They only drained him even more; stole attention from what should be his true focus.

Finding the auxiliary control points.

Exhaling heavily, he raised the GPS up from where his hand was resting against the deck. Sweat beaded into his eyes, stinging them and forcing him to blink. He wiped at his forehead again. There had to be _some _way around the heat.

Once he had cleared his vision enough, Casey gazed down at the bright LCD screen. Should he just tough it out? Push on as far as he could go despite the dangers he faced if he followed through with that decision? Could he make that choice? His life versus saving Leslie?

_I'm doing this for her, _he answered in his head. _The only reason I came up with this plan in the first place was so I could buy time to get to her and find a way off this deathtrap. Pushing on until I die _isn't_ the way to do it! _Lowering the GPS, he tried to consider the few options left open to him. _The only way I can _get_ to those control points is to find some way to deal with this heat. Think, Casey, think!_ Reaching over to grab hold of his backpack, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

_Alright, turning the AC back on is obviously as serious no-go. Besides, it would take way too long for the lower sections to cool down anyway. So scratch that. _Pushing up from the deck, he pocketed his GPS as he hefted the heavy bag over his head and resettled the strap across his chest again. The returning weight didn't help his dilemma. _The idea here is to find a way to keep cool while I'm down here looking for the auxiliary ballast controls. So…how the hell do I do that? There's gotta be something I'm missing. But what?_

Pulling away from the wall unenthusiastically, Casey turned after a moment and gazed down the dim corridor. Death was all that waited for in that direction unless he could figure out a way to beat his captor's ingenious way of safeguarding the auxiliary systems of the offshore drilling platform. Rushing ahead into all that heat without proper planning was a sure way to achieve that _real_ quick. That would equal failure and he had no intention of failing Leslie.

_Let's go over it again, _he forced, trying to press the fact that death really _was_ more than just a possibility here to the back of his mind_. The engines keep the lower decks close to them hot. The air-conditioning helps to get rid of some that heat. I'd imagine that even the crew who work down here take multiple breaks to prevent from passing out. Water's also a must. But that doesn't really help me out, now does it? Crud, this getting me nowhere fast._

Taking another long pull of the hot, humid air, he was quick to place a hand against the warm wall for balance as a sudden feeling of dizziness swept over him. His knees almost buckled as he steadied as best he could. Blinking tiredly, Casey shook his head as the pace of his heartbeats quickened. _Not good, _the thought echoed in his head. _The heat's getting to me. I've gotta get outta here…come up with a new plan. Need to backtrack. Make it back to the stairwell I came down in…_

The thought trailed off abruptly as realization gripped him.

_Wait. Down? Yeah, down! _Under_! That's what I was missing! The service catwalks that –_

Another bout of dizziness rolled through him. This time, it left him feeling faint. He nearly fell down to his knees. He took yet another deep breath but it didn't help to ease the sensation of weakness that was making his whole body feel rubbery and flaccid. There was no more time to plan. He had to get back to the stairway before he had a heat stroke!

With strained effort he raised his other hand to the wall, turning back in the direction he had come. The world around him was gradually growing dimmer. His heart was pounding in his chest so hard that it frightened him. Each breath he took was becoming a struggle. His lungs felt heavy, like they were filled with water. Every step he took was harder than the last. It felt as if he were trying to walk while being weighed down with logging chains.

The narrow corridor he'd travelled through so easily before was fast becoming a darkening maze full of half-remembered directions and misleading passages. He wasn't how he navigated through them without falling from exhaustion or just tripping over his own feet but he did. The path he took back to the stairway was as erratic as his breathing, being forced to turn back and retrace his unsteady steps on more than one occasion. A trip that had taken him barely twenty minutes initially topped out at what he blankly assumed was much more by the time he reached the stairway again.

On the verge of passing out, he collapsed just short of it; only vaguely aware of how much cooler it was there than where he'd been. With the little strength that was left in his arms, Casey grabbed up the canteen at his side, dragged it to his face and uncapped it as fast as he could. He didn't bother to worry about moderation this time. In less time than he figured it would, he drained the canteen empty; down to the very last drop water contained within. Taking a shuddering breath of the cooler air, he just lay there; wondering if he would ever see or talk to Leslie again.

As much as he fought against it, his vision was beginning to tunnel and the faint feeling from before was growing stronger. He wanted to panic but there wasn't any strength left in him to so. He tried to focus on Leslie again, use her as his source of strength and determination to continue on but his mind was too wearied to hold onto the thought. All he could do was just lie there…

…Lie there and hope that none of the other students on the platform would find him before he woke up…

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1st**__**AMERICAN BLITZ**_

Despite the fact she was being accompanied by her friend Nick Lang, Vikki Shaw knew that she was a dead woman walking. Always told her weight issues would be the death of her, the words she'd jokingly dismissed before now held an eerie ring of certainty. Though she knew that Nick would fight his hardest to protect her, do whatever it took to keep her alive; Vikki couldn't help but feel she was living on borrowed time and that her death was inevitable.

Yet, a surprise bump in the road turns her situation upside down and forces her to confront the morose fact that, even with the threat of death hanging heavy over her head, she can't escape the unhappy torments of her past…

**Coming soon, "The Hand You're Dealt",**

**Chapter 16**** of **_**1st**__**AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

In case no one figured it out, Casey Fuller is Wendy Prince's mystery person. He is the one she needs to help her formulate a plan of escape from the doomed oiled platform. However, it would seem that Casey has plans of his own. Whether or not those plans will include anyone else but Leslie Thurston (if he survives, that is) is up for debate.

Casey comes across as the smart-guy in the story so far; maybe sharing the trope spotlight with Sadie Dechon. However, he is no Shinji Mimura. I would tend to think of him as rather the complete opposite – scrawny, unattractive, unathletic, socially inept and dependant on others to fight his battles for him. He actually reminds me a little of myself when I was high school but then again, most of my characters carry some aspect of me in them. Though, I cut it short of total self-insertation which I regard as a complete low-point of writing.

I also thought it would be nice to introduce the person in which Leslie so staunchly defended – at great personal risk to herself. It was fun to write the flashback scene with the two of them in his bedroom because it gives you another look at her rugged and abrasive personality and shows that Casey is still trying to get used to her being a young woman and dressing as such. It was a bit of a 'coming-of-age' moment for him there as well as a nice slice-of-life interaction between the two of them. Casey was very fun to bring into existence and fared much better than the introduction of LaTrey Johnson. I still find myself wanting to apologize for that part of the last chapter. His character just didn't gel the way I wanted him to. He was exceedingly hard to write and, in truth, I just should've killed him off right then and there.

But, I wanted to give him some kind of character moment so I gritted my teeth and pushed him through the chapter. And I think it suffered because of that. I don't think that was the case here. Casey came across well-realized (sans an immediate description of what he looks like) and genuinely better paced than LaTrey. Of course, whether or not he'll be around later in the story is anyone's guess.

Remember. Just because I personally like a character doesn't mean he or she is going to be safe to the end. And I remember liking quite a few of the previously written characters…

Anyways, hope you all enjoy this newest chapter of _1__st__ American Blitz_. Yes, no real action again; no deaths besides Trevor's unfortunate and premature one – meaning that this story _will not_ be for everyone. If you want plenty of action, gore and total nonstop death…there are plenty of other stories here that would fit the bill much better than this one. I prefer to think of _1__st__ American Blitz_ as a darker and grittier look into how normal teenagers with normal teenage problems are pushed into becoming remorseless murderers; something a little more frightening because it strikes a tad closer to home. Each chapter represents a piece of the greater puzzle that is the plot. And it will take some time for this puzzle to be assembled. I will not rush forward just to satisfy the need for bloodshed. I did that with Trevor Gates and have been regretting it ever since.

So please stick with it if you can…if not, then I'll be happy you read as far as you did and I thank you for that.

Ciao!

Terryll


	27. The Hand You're Dealt

**1st AMERICAN BLITZ**

* * *

**CHAPTER 16**

**Girls, No. 15**

**Victoria 'Vikki' Shaw**

**"The Hand You're Dealt"**

* * *

_Mirrors lie._

_Sighing, she lowered the shimmery, gray Theory Olpia Harlequin dress from her large chest and let it hang loosely in her hands. She really did wish that were true and _not_ something parents told their overweight children to make them feel better about being bloated pigs. Many of her friends back in Atlanta had told her that she wasn't; that she was just a little bit pudgy…or that she just had some meat on her bones. It was that wonderful, Southern way of calling you fat but being really nice about it._

_Yet at least they _were_ nice about it down South. They weren't anything at all like the people in New York City; especially in the UES. Here they were as mean as they came. It wasn't the first time that she wished she'd never left Atlanta._

_Vikki raised the dress back up to her bosom and held there with an arm draped across the shoulders of it while she placed her other hand on the hemline and pressed it against one of her thick thighs. She modeled it, moving her body from left to right, striking a pose here and there to check where it didn't fit properly. Unfortunately, that seemed to be everywhere._

_Though she thought otherwise, there were a few people – other than her father – who believed that she was pretty despite her weight. While she felt they were just lying to spare her feelings, every last one of them kept on insisting she was. What exactly were they seeing that she wasn't? How in the world did they see any beauty hiding in such a horrible shape? Why couldn't they just come out and tell her the truth…the truth that she saw in every reflection that stared back at her? That she was fat and miserable and would stay that way until she found some way to change it._

_Mirrors, obviously, weren't the only things that lied._

_Dejected, she lowered the dress again and reluctantly gazed at herself in the mirror. A wide, pudgy, heart-shaped face framed by side-parted straight blonde hair that spilled across her shoulders looked back with sad, light-blue eyes set to either side of a slightly upturned and pointed nose. She supposed she could be considered pretty – if chunky Southern-born girls with zero grace and even less poise could be considered pretty in the eyes of all the high-society, anorexic, fashion-conscious Northern snobs she now found herself surrounded by._

_And that most definitely included the majority of the teens she went to school with._

_She groaned inwardly, forcing her eyes to remain on the depressing reflection before her. Her height didn't really help matters and only seemed to add more weight to her squat body. Being four-foot-eleven could _hardly_ be considered a good defining trait, in her opinion. A little more height may have slimmed her body to a more acceptable degree; something easier to see in the mirror every morning and tolerate. Instead, she'd been cursed with a body that seemed to doom her to a hellish social hole that she would never be able to climb up from. Of course, all of the so-called 'queens' at Diomatti were quick to make sure she remembered that; _some_ more than others._

_But despite how most of her schoolmates acted around her, not all of them were part of the 'Future Bitches and Bastards of America' club. Some were actually decent, if a bit indifferent to her daily ordeal in the halls of Diomatti. Some even surprised her with how kind they could be regardless of how she looked in a place where appearances determined first impressions in most cases. One of those people was the last person she would ever expect, a varsity running back by the name of Nick Lang._

_Even though he was in a different social circle, they had become fast friends during a school trip; mostly due to her quirky sense of humor which involved making jokes at her expense and his overt desire to make himself scarce whenever the 'alpha girls' were on the prowl. And because of that, because Nick had accepted her for who she was and dared to consider her a _friend_, they had made her already-miserable life even worse. Even the good things that happened to her turned to shit because of her weight. It was becoming a running joke, one that was as unfunny as it was condemning._

_Muttering a curse under her breath, Vikki let the dress slip away from her chest. The image reflected back at her once again almost made her turn her head. Weight was an issue she'd dealt with her entire life. It was something that seemed almost unconquerable, a problem that had long since grown out of control and unmanageable._

_Her eyes flitted back to the shimmery garment held at about her midsection. She gazed at it with as much apprehension as she did appreciation – appreciation that she could look at something else other than her body. She'd once gone to one of those online ideal weight websites and calculated what it would be. In retrospect, it'd been a bad idea…a _very_ bad idea. Finding out that she _should've_ weighed between ninety-eight and 123lbs instead of the 161 she was only made things worse in her eyes. Even the designer clothing she had on didn't help to ease her demoralized feelings. Nor did they do a thing to hide the bulges she was so self-conscious of when she was alone and undressed._

_Matched with a pair of black VANELi Sergine Ballet Flats, the expensive Theory RUNA black leggings and indigo Eileen Fisher wool top she wore – purchased from the Jacquelyn Lane Fall Catalogue – didn't do very much to cover up the horrible figure she had to see every morning she woke up and looked into a mirror. Theory clothing usually only catered to the slimmer portion of Upper East Side citizenry. Fortunately enough, her father happened to know a fair number of overpriced tailors who could work wonders with fabric._

_It was a nice gesture from a man who loved his daughter unconditionally and hated seeing her upset for any reason. But it didn't come close to solving the underlying problem that she kept hidden from him beneath lying smiles and misdirecting grins. Besides, she wasn't too sure she wanted them butchering another beautiful piece of clothing just so she could squeeze into it._

Face it girl, _she thought, still staring hard into the mirror while trying to keep her gaze fixed on the dress, _you can squeeze into this dress and pretty yourself up all you want. But after the 'ball' is over, the 'prince' is still gonna run to the thinnest girl in the room. _Running a hand through her flaxen hair, she finally turned away from the mirror and moved toward the rack she'd taken the dress from._ And no amount of whining about it or hacking up expensive clothes so they can fit or giving in to Dee's bitching about my weight's gonna change that.

_Just thinking of her stepmother filled her with loathing and contempt. There was no room in her heart for a woman who she saw as nothing more than a gold digger. For her father to even _suggest_ that she try to accept that trashy bimbo as her mother still burned in the back of her mind, despite the fact that the argument had taken place a couple of years back. No, she would never accept Deadra Haybrooke in that role. She only had one mother. And she would never have another._

_Those thoughts, however, gave way to tender and sudden memories. Amidst the ruthless self-loathing and boiling contempt for the tramp that'd dared to marry her father in an attempt to supplant a role that she had no right to; images of a gaunt, but sweet-faced young woman brought as much joy to her as they did sorrow._

_Hannah Shaw would never be remembered as a particular strong woman. From what she recalled of her and what she'd been able to coax out of her father, her mother had always possessed a delicate and slight build. It was something Vikki really wished that she had inherited instead of her father's…robust build. To maintain such a perpetual and slender size was nothing short of miraculous to her. That was the case even when her mom had been in late-term pregnancy with her. The way she would come to understand it, her mother's figure never really altered beyond the swell of her belly. Yet that lack of weight would have devastating consequences in the wake of Vikki's birth._

_They were consequences that no one expected._

_At around the age of nine, her mother died. The death had been so swift and sudden that it left everyone in complete shock. One minute, they were shopping together at the grocery store and the next, her mother was falling to the tiled floor in an unconscious heap. A few hours later, she'd been pronounced dead from cranial injuries sustained when her head slammed against the floor due to the seizure she suffered._

_It'd been an overwhelming loss for her. She remembered spending most of the days following the death shut up in her room crying or sitting on the side of her parent's bed clutching hold to one of her mom's nightgowns doing the same. It took both her father and a family friend to drag her out of the room to attend the funeral. She had kicked, scratched and screamed for them to leave her alone._

_But they wouldn't listen._

_She wished they had. Being forced to go to that funeral; being forced to confront a reality that she didn't want to accept was much more damaging than anything Vikki dealt with now. The horrible feeling of loss and emptiness that crushed her from the inside out when she stared at her mother's motionless body was an emotion tied to more than a dozen memories. It was a feeling that never really left her and an instant in time forever scorched into her mind. Beyond all others, even recently, it'd been the absolute worst moment of her life._

_Her mother had been sick for some time before the seizure as she recalled her father telling her, in and out of clinics and hospitals almost since the day that Vikki was born. But there was never any indication that the illness would be fatal or that it'd been brought on by her mother's pregnancy. Though, there _were_ signs to the contrary._

_As much as she wanted to believe otherwise, her father had made it clear that she bared no responsibility for the wasting illness that took her mother's life. And yet, now that she was older and had a much better understanding of things, how could she not feel some measure of guilt for the part she played in such a young woman's death? A woman who had done so much for her in the short nine years they were together. A woman who had yet to even reach her thirtieth birthday?_

_Hannah Emily Shaw. She deserved a much longer life, a devoted mother and loving wife who ended up dead at the age of twenty-seven. How fair was that? Why did something that was supposed to bring so much joy cause nothing but grief instead? No matter what her father told her, she had every right to feel guilty about her mom's death. And the part she might have inadvertently played in it._

_Vikki suppressed that familiar lump of sadness that was forming in her throat. Even though it was nearly six and a half years since her mother had passed away, there were times when she couldn't help but cry when memories of her mother lingered. And those times seemed to be more often now that 'Dee' had married her way into Vikki's life; dragging three high society wannabe daughters along with her for the ride._

_Having a money-hungry, fashionista of a stepmother was bad enough. But throwing three snooty stepsisters into the mix too? If she wasn't mistaken, her name was _not_ Cinderella. She was also quite sure that the large, eighty-nine year old Victorian house she lived in with them didn't qualify as a castle either._

"_Well, well, well," a snide voice called out. "I guess little piggies really _can_ go to market after all."_

_Vikki didn't need to turn her head to the side to see who it was that had spoken. The insulting tone, the rude comment made at her expense; they were the only clues she needed to know that the oldest of her stepsisters had arrived. She wasn't surprised, however. Kavannah's was a clothing store that Debra Haybrooke frequented almost as much as Vikki did._

_She'd hoped that today would've been the day Debra went somewhere else – like maybe Saks Fifth Avenue or, better yet, straight to Hell. It was just her luck that Kavannah's was on both their minds. There wasn't going to be anyway out this other than a scathing verbal exchange._

_Fortunately, when it came to that, she was always armed to the teeth; unlike her wit-challenged stepsister. Burying the feelings of sadness caused by the memories of her mother, she tried to summon up the most cynical and sarcastic attitude she could manage. She knew it wasn't going to be easy with her mother such a strong presence in her head, but there was no other way of facing her bitchiest stepsister._

_Reaching the rack she'd taken the dress from, she casually slid the other garments aside to make room for it, saying, "Oh, hey Deb. Didn't see you there. Not too used to you actually being _vertical_ these days. What, decided to give your back a break so your legs could get some much needed exercise?"_

"_At least _I'm_ getting some. Not like a bloated sow like _you_ would understand that."_

_Vikki ignored the insult about her weight, choosing instead to reply to her stepsister's first comment._

"_Don't you mean 'catching something'? Way I've been hearing it, there's a real nasty genital itch going 'round Diomatti. Rumor mill says that your new flavor of the week's been spreading more than just love across the campus. What was his name again? Stephen Thomas Derrimot? Yeah… Think about the initials for his name a second or three and connect the dots, alpha-skank."_

_Turning from the clothing rack, Vikki faced her stepsister with a dirty grin. Tall, leggy and wearing a dress that seemed like it was a size too small with matching green heels; Debra stalked forward and stopped only inches from being nose to forehead with her. Unperturbed, Vikki looked up defiantly; expression unchanged as her light-blue eyes met the hazel ones of her estranged step-sibling._

_As usual, whatever natural features existed on her face were buried under a confusing mess of mascara, rouge, blush, eyeliner and that hideous whore-red lipstick she favored. The overpowering scent of Clive Christian No. 1 for Women made her nostrils burn and threatened to give her a headache if she remained that close to her for any longer. Someone really needed to tell Debra that just because it was $800 perfume, she didn't need to bathe in it every chance she got. They also needed to remind her that expensive price didn't equal good fragrance._

"_Think I'm scared of you?" Debra's eyes narrowed. Her glossy, crimson lips worked themselves into a cruel smile. "You think I'm scared of _Alan_? Mama's got – "_

_Debra cut her words short and she jerked her head up, giving a quick scan around to make sure that none of the employees she knew or anyone important to her social circle was within earshot. Vikki couldn't stop her grin from blossoming into a toothy smile when she saw Debra's nervous reaction even if she wanted to. "Yeah. Better be careful, Deb. Wouldn't want any of your alpha-tramp friends to hear that Marietta, Georgia hick-talk. Can't ruin that glamorous, city-girl image you got going. Right?"_

_Her stepsister swung her head back around, glare in her eyes hot and burning. That smile from earlier was gone. "Say what you want, you lil' bitch! Don't stop the fact that mama's got your daddy pussy-whipped. Or did you think that I spent _my_ money on this Clive Christian perfume?"_

_Vikki's eyes widened, the smirk painted across her lips fading._

"_That's bullshit! He wouldn't buy… He wouldn't do something like that for… You…you're lying!"_

_Unkind smile returning, Debra said nothing else as she pulled away and stood erect. Her hazel eyes drilled into Vikki's as she swept a lithe hand through her curly, strawberry-blonde hair. Once done, she folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head to the left with a sniff. "I don't gotta lie. _Daddy's_ treating me _real_ nice. Getting me _anything_ I want. What's the last thing he did for you other than having more of those expensive clothes you bought ripped up and altered? Sounds to me like he's _trying_ to keep you fat. Y'know, so you'll _always_ be his precious lil' lard-ass since your slut of a mother isn't around to –"_

_Vikki didn't know which came first, the slap or the hair-pulling. She supposed it didn't matter since whichever _did_ come first served the purpose of shutting Debra up. The feelings about her mother may have been buried but they weren't buried _that_ deep. And her slut stepsister's ill-timed insult was all it took to bring them up from the shallows._

_But after that, it was just mutual animosity and hatred, pure and simple. What began as a war of words had suddenly devolved into an all-out brawl in the middle of a high-priced clothing store. It was surprising how fast the whole thing had spun out of control. Not that she really cared at the time, wanting nothing more than to use the polished floor to scrape every bit of that caked-on makeup off of Debra's face. Everything became a wild, scream-filled blur of obscenities, handfuls of hair, ripped clothing, punches and yelling store employees._

_By the time security had arrived on the scene and managed to pull them apart, she was holding more than just a few strands of reddish-blond hair in both clenched fists. Debra was struggling against the guards holding her back and hissing like a caged cat; her curls disheveled, one of her green high-heels missing and her dress hiked up enough to reveal a noticeable amount of her lacey, white panties. Her stepsister's face was a thunderhead of rage, accented well by the angry red welt marring her left cheek and a bloodied, busted upper lip from where Vikki had landed a headbutt of all things. That made her smile._

_There were plenty of times when it sucked to be fat. When she looked in the mirror. When she walked down the hallway of her school. When she had to participate in gym class. When she went clothes shopping. All of those times, it really sucked to be her. But as Vikki stared into the bruised, sneering face of Debra Haybrooke; she realized something._

_This wasn't one of them._

_**OOO**_

Vikki's lungs felt like they were on fire. Running hadn't been a strength before all this insanity happened and that particular fact didn't change just because she was doing it to keep herself alive. She felt heavier than she normally did, feet dragging along as if a large ball and chain were secured to each of her ankles. As usual, her weight was nothing but a burden. The pack on her back, and the oblong object poking out the top of it, certainly wasn't helping. At home, her size only got her ridiculed. Here, it was going to get her killed.

It was a dogging fear, one that had lodged itself neatly in the back of head as she struggled to keep up with the one person she never expected to see again. The reason why was because she figured she'd be good and dead long before ever getting the chance. A horrible truth to accept, she knew, but one that had managed to stick like glue in her mind ever since she had been pushed out of the briefing room. If dumb luck had any role to play in her life, it certainly had tipped its hat to her when Nick Lang popped out from one of the many office doors lining the hallway she was running through at the time. Well, maybe _running_ wasn't the right word for what she'd been doing.

Stumbling with grace while sucking wind was probably a more accurate description.

A few paces in front of her, Nick maintained what could only be described as a brisk jog. She was well aware that he was capable of moving much faster than that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have earned the starting position on the Diomatti Kings as running back. It was obvious that the reason he was moving so slow had to do with her. And if _that_ wasn't a dead giveaway, Nick turning his head every other minute to make sure she was still behind him pretty much settled the issue.

Not that she really minded as it made her feel comfortable and safe; which was something that she couldn't say about their surroundings.

The eerie, yellow glow of the external lights bathed the wide path they scampered down in a saturated kind of gloom. Machinery and piping rose around them, with an occasional building module here and there to break up the monotony. The path they were on seemed to cut through the heart of the rig itself; the light-dotted drilling tower and the two-story processing facility bordering it being to their immediate left. Both rose over them menacingly as they moved across the platform's painted deck like thieves in the night.

The shadows the tower and building threw across their path swallowed the pale illumination. Both light and darkness seemed to offer her just as much relief as they did fear. She was afraid of what might lurk in the shadows, of _who_ might be lurking in them. It wouldn't really be hard for anyone to conceal themselves in all that gloom and then attack when you least expected it. Yet she also saw them as sanctuary from the light, something that would surely give them away to anyone deciding to play to win. Of course, that was also an upside for them too – being able to spot someone not smart enough to stick to the shadows.

But all the same, both were a double-edged sword that could get you killed.

Vikki wasn't fool enough to believe that everyone gathered in that briefing room would be unwilling to do so. The prize dangled in front of them made that a certainty. Like the Omatsu woman had said during her briefing, fear for one's life was a great motivator. That wasn't a lie. No matter where they were from or what kind of life they lived before being dragged here, not one of those students in that briefing room wanted to die. It would only be a matter of time before someone did the unthinkable.

That time came a lot sooner than either she or Nick expected.

The wind had picked up since those three gunshots cracking through the air forced them to move from their hiding spot. The shots were so sudden and so close that the thought of remaining where they were was beyond stupid. Before too long, they were fleeing from the only place that had felt safe since their escape from the Quarters Module. Like Nick, Vikki didn't know if the gunshots had killed or not but she sure wasn't willing to stick around and find out. Together, they raced deeper into the dark recesses of the unfamiliar oil platform in the hopes of discovering safety where none seemed to exist anymore.

The sun had set long ago. But there were no stars in the sky tonight. The heavy, dark clouds that'd been building since early evening now obscured them completely. There was an indistinct booming of thunder in the distance and a few bright splotches of light within the clouds further out into the horizon. The air carried that strange scent; the odd odor that always seemed to come before a heavy downpour. She remembered it well from her childhood in Georgia. It had always filled her with anticipation; a desire to run out into the rain and splash around in the puddles it created barefoot.

That wouldn't be the case here. Rain and high wind would make it even more dangerous to navigate the topside of the platform. They needed to find someplace to hunker down before it came and the sooner the better.

Yet all things considered, especially with the crazy situation they were in and the fact they were fleeing for their lives, it started off a lot better than she'd thought it would. Shoved out the briefing room after being told that she wouldn't last an hour by a particularly cruel soldier with a long scar on his cheek – she was sure it was an offhand insult about her weight – and then collared, she managed to steady herself seconds before coming face to face with the boy who'd been rifle-butted in the head. The glare in his good eye and the dark, murderous expression he wore were only heightened by the remaining traces of dried blood splotched around the swollen, nasty-looking gash near the corner of his partially shut bloodshot eyeball. Just seeing him standing there forced a startled scream from her mouth.

It must've been a funny sight for the sandy-haired boy, seeing her trying to run. But fear was pushing her legs, not reason. If she'd listened to _reason_, she wouldn't have tried in the first place. After all, how many people her size actually tried to do something more than powerwalk? Fear for your life always made you do things you never expected. But even fear couldn't trump reality. And that reality was she was fat.

A corner turned and about half the length down the hallway had brought the truth crashing down on her like an avalanche. Her chest rose up and down so fast that Vikki thought she was going to have a heart attack. Sweat almost seemed to be pouring down her brow; like someone had dumped a pitcher of warm water over her head. The humidity and heat made breathing more difficult than it should've been. Her abdomen cramped and felt like someone had placed a pair of vice-clamps to either side of it. On top of that, her lungs burned; longing for air that seemed to be in short supply because of her gasping and the clamminess surrounding her. Rubbery legs and nausea rounded out everything else and led her to a very unshocking conclusion.

She was in piss-poor shape.

Despite the risk, she soon found herself leaning against the wall to catch her breath. Its off-white surface was warm against her back; the sheer fabric of the blouse saturated with sweat and offering little in the way of interference. Vikki arched her head back until it came in contact with the wall. Teary eyes stared up disbelievingly at the dusty light fixtures above as the sound of her heart grew loud in her ears. The tears were as much a product of fear as they were sadness.

The weight of reality crushed down on her again. They'd been brought to the rig to die. To _die_. Even now, the thought was odd…but undeniable in its truth. Though death maintained a very personal hold on her life, she never once gave any thought to her own mortality despite the repeated complaints from her stepmother of how dangerous her weight could end up being. Dying…death…it all just seemed so far outside the realm of possibility for her. She was only fifteen. She was _supposed_ to have her whole life ahead of her!

The tears became heavy. Soon, they were tracing slow and winding trails down her round cheeks. She just couldn't believe any of it! There had always been jokes between her and Nick that death was just one bacon cheeseburger away when they were at Slingshot's eating. Yet those were jokes, nothing more. Sure, there was that tiny fear in the back of her head that something bad _might_ happen because of what and how she ate. But that was supposed to be something for her to worry about when she was old – like around thirty or so. It wasn't something she was supposed to be worrying about now…not at fifteen.

How was she supposed to handle death when she didn't even have the chance to _live_ yet?

"Vikki?" Hearing her name snapped her mind back to the present. Nick was gazing at her, eyes worried. He'd stopped moving and was just standing there facing her. She wondered why until noticing that she wasn't moving either. "Are you okay," he pressed.

_No Nick, _she thought._ I'm _not_ okay. I'll _never_ be okay. How could I ever be okay knowing what's gonna happen to us…to _me_? Those gunshots. Just how close were we…? Just how close did we come to…to…_

"Oh…uh, yeah." As usual, the words coming out of her mouth were the exact opposite of how she felt. "I'm good, all things…considering." Thunder boomed in the distance again. It sounded closer than before. The wind also felt like it was picking up. There was no doubt that the storm was on its way. Nick was still just standing there, looking very much like he wanted say something else but she cut him off before he could. "Look, we better get going," she said, adjusting her backpack and taking a few steps forward. "Won't be long before it starts to rain. And if you don't trust my southern-born intuition about the weather, pretty sure the thunder offers a darn good second opinion."

She smiled at him. He smiled back and nodded, turning to resume his half-walk, half-jog. It was obvious that neither of them were comfortable with what was going on. The smiles shared were nothing more than lies. That was nothing new, though. For her, every smile hid a lie.

"'Sides," she continued after a moment, "better safe than sorry. Right?"

He turned his head and gave a cautious nod before turning away again. Nick moved off toward the nearby building wall and she followed as best she could in spite of the soreness and aching in her legs. Reaching it, they continued through the walkway. Neither said anything else to the other. Talking out in the open here was just as hazardous as her weight would eventually grow to be. Conversation created noise. Noise could be heard. That could gain them unwanted attention. Like the person who'd fired those gunshots. And catching his – or anyone else's – attention _here_ was going to be a recipe for disaster.

Ahead of her Nick continued forward, hugging closer to the metal wall of the processing facility skirting the base of the derrick; splitting his attention between checking on her and keeping a wary eye on his surroundings. That was dangerous. And it irked her. He couldn't afford to take those kinds of chances with all the other students probably in deep states of paranoia and running around with who-knew-what for weapons. He needed to keep focused on himself and not be so worried about her.

It wasn't like she couldn't take care of herself, afterall.

She skulked along the metal siding as quietly as she could manage. Nick had slowed in his movements, noticing that they were about to reach the end of it before she did. Vikki maintained her pace though, determined to make up the slight gap that opened between them. He gazed back at her again, motioning with his hand for her to stop as he looked forward again, covered the remaining distance to the wall's edge and then paused. She took a few more cautious steps before coming to a halt.

She was well-aware that he would never leave her behind for any reason. He'd proved that by waiting for her after being released from the briefing room, though he did seem little hesitant to say anymore about it than that. However, that didn't mean she didn't want stick as close to him as possible. Friends and people you could trust were in short supply now. The strong bonds shared between family, couples and close friends were soon going to be one of the most precious commodities found on the rig.

They would also become the most dangerous as time went by.

She watched as Nick took a cautious peek around the corner. Words burning in her mind, Vikki suppressed the urge to tell him to be careful. She knew that the words would be useless, but how could she _not_ feel that way? Danger was everywhere around them and the possibility of death lingered in every shadow of the platform. Her fear for him was palpable because she knew that she wouldn't live long without him by her side.

Guilt was quick to fill her as that last thought slithered uneasily into her mind. Was that all Nick was to her? A means to an end? A way for her to stay alive?

Vikki clutched hold of both backpack straps as tight as she could, eyes locked on Nick but not really seeing him. What kind of friend did that make her? He had risked his life to wait for her and _that_ was the way she viewed him now? As…as a shield?

She slumped against the wall, a mix of anger and sadness flooding through her. What was this 'game' turning her into? What kind of monster thought _that_ about the one person who had been look past her bloated outside and see the real person lying within?

The kind she was apparently becoming.

"Vikki," she heard Nick whisper. She didn't want to face him, she didn't want to him to see the disingenuous lie on her face. How could she even speak to him now, knowing that fear was forcing her to see him more as a tool and not a friend? "Vikki!" His voice was still a low whisper but carried an urgent edge to it. But it didn't matter. How could she face him?

A scream echoing through the air pushed past those harrowing questions. She looked up just in time to see Nick press himself flat against the side of the building. So caught up in her own thoughts and guilt, Vikki hadn't even noticed that he was holding his weapon – a gun of some sort. Her stomach tightened as he tested his grip and raised it like she'd seen so many action heroes in movies do. He gazed at her, eyes worried and face tight. He lifted a finger to his mouth, nervousness making it a bit more difficult than it should have been.

Vikki nodded.

The thunder from the incoming storm continued to boom in the distance. But nothing else beyond the low rumble of the rig's engines could be heard. Other than that, it was as silent as it was before she heard the scream. She wasn't sure if she should be unsettled or relieved by that. Whoever it was, wherever they were, Vikki knew one thing for sure.

It had come from a girl.

Another look passed between her and Nick, his green eyes again telling. He was thinking the same thing, had come to the same conclusion. For a moment, she thought she saw something more in his expression but before she could get a good read, he turned away. Vikki noticed that his face seemed paler. Was he worrying over the fact that he might have to use the gun he held? Fear suddenly surged through her as he regripped the gun once more. His nervousness was more evident now than it was before.

Vikki suppressed the urge to shake her head. _Is he…? Could he be thinking…? No. No!_

She wasn't sure what made her reach out for him, fear of being left alone to die or desire to keep her one and only friend safe. At the moment, it didn't really matter. Vikki didn't want to see Nick die; it was as simple as that.

Her fingers brushed against his arm just as she became aware of the rapid approach of footsteps. Before she knew what was happening, she was flat against the wall with Nick pressed against her. At first, she didn't know what to make of it, or how to deal with it, until she realized that he must've heard the footsteps too. Yet he was close to her, so close that she could hear his heart beating. It was hard and fast, absolutely expected considering the situation.

From her new position, she saw that the arm holding the gun was extended toward the edge of the building. The hand clutching it was taut but unsteady; shaking with what she was sure was more nerves and dread than anticipation. Vikki realized then that she didn't want to see what was about to happen. She didn't want to see someone shot.

The footsteps drew closer and she closed her eyes as tight as she could. She wished she could cover her ears as well, but her head was trapped between Nick's broad chest and the cool siding of the building. Just like earlier, there would be no escape from the gunshots.

Or the screams that were sure to follow.

Nick's breathing, quick and raspy for the past minute or so, suddenly caught as the footsteps rushed passed without stopping. The weight of his body lessened and she opened her eyes in confusion. Looking up, she saw the horrified expression that he wore as his disbelieving gaze followed the person who had just run by. His face also radiated something else, something that looked suspiciously like guilt.

"N-Nick," she uttered. "What's wron –?"

"A…Alisia?" he questioned, voice as absent as it was quiet.

"Wh…what?"

Without any warning, Nick pulled away from her and took a few unsteady steps toward the building's edge. She grabbed his arm but he pulled away and broke out into a run. "Nick, wait!" He wasn't listening. Why was he wearing such a guilty look after seeing Alisia Benetti of all people? Was she the reason he was so hesitant to talk about the time he spent waiting for her?

Vikki took off after him without even thinking. She couldn't waste time worrying about the reasons. Nick was her friend and she wouldn't just let him run off to get killed. Not for someone like Alisia Benetti. _Anyone_ but her! She wasn't _worth_ it! And neither was her bitch-friend-forever, Brenda Hughes.

Those guilty thoughts from earlier tried to invade her mind again but the fear she felt for Nick's wellbeing made it easy to push them aside. It also narrowed her attention, keeping her focused only on reaching him. Vikki wasn't aware of the _other_ footsteps ringing loud against the metal deck until a large blur flashed past, nearly knocking her over. She stumbled forward, only just managing to regain enough balance to keep from wobbling back into the wall she'd been leaning against.

Instead, she ended up tripping over her own feet while trying to keep herself upright. It turned out to be a mistake attempting something like that with her weight. Graceless and flailing, she tumbled to the deck. The impact knocked the wind out of her. Gasping for breath she no longer had, Vikki nonetheless raised her head to find Nick. A dizzy feeling swept over as she did.

She blinked her eyes to clear away the cobwebs but it wasn't helping. She must have fallen harder than she thought. She couldn't hear anything but a dull ringing in her ears. Her heart leapt and fear churned her stomach nervously as she scanned the deck and above for any sign of Nick. Where _was_ he? And who the hell was that who'd almost run her down?

Struggling to catch her breath, Vikki slid her arms to the side. Planting her palms against the cool metal, she pushed up to her knees. Slow and laborious, her body seemed to fight every step of the way. God, she hated being fat! How was she going to help Nick when she couldn't even lift her fat ass off the deck?

"Vik…Vikki…!"

Despite the ringing still present in her ears, there was no mistaking that voice. That was Nick! Tired, weary and upset as she was, Vikki raised her head in the direction that she thought he was. He called out to her again, words sounding strained. "…Vikki…get… Go after…dammit…" There were a couple of heavy thuds followed by grunts and hard breathing. "Alis…" he tried to say. She froze. It was unmistakable. He was fighting with someone! Was it whoever had run past her? Her heart pounded faster.

"…Go after…Alisia... _Hurry...!_" he finished with a gasp. That was followed by more fleshy thumps. This time, the grunts and groan that came afterward sounded like Nick's.

Spurred by the trouble that her friend was in and mind growing frantic with terror, Vikki rose to her feet as fast as she could despite the pain she was in. Panicked hands gripped the backpack straps and yanked it off, quickly pulling the bag in front of her. Nervous, desperate and head still swimming with dizziness; she unzipped the pack and seized the crowbar with both hands. Letting the backpack fall to the deck with a light _thud_, Vikki struggled to steady herself. She would _not_ leave Nick alone to fight! Not after he had risked his life to wait for her. Not after he had accepted her as a friend when everyone else scoffed and scorned her.

She wouldn't let him die for Alisia _or_ her!

Kicking the pack out of the way, she scanned for Nick with anxious eyes. It took only seconds to find him, flat on his back grappling with a much larger Black boy who had his hair braided in cornrows. He was facing away from her, all of his attention focused on Nick. Hesitating for only a second, Vikki tightened her grip around the smooth metal of the crowbar and launched herself in their direction.

The other boy must have heard her heavy footfalls because his head swung around almost as soon as she'd begun her dash toward them. She wanted to scream out loud in frustration but couldn't spare the breath to do so. It was just another reason why her weight was nothing more than a curse, one that would eventually get her killed. Regardless, she raised the crowbar up as she wobbled forward on unsteady legs.

Seeing her approach, he tried to lift up from Nick and move away to avoid the strike he saw coming. But Nick clutched two handfuls of his shirt, fighting hard to hold him in place. Vikki didn't waste the opportunity, closing the remaining distance as fast as possible and bringing the hooked piece of metal down as hard as she could with a tearful scream.

The flat side of the crowbar struck the boy square in the shoulder. He let out a stiff grunt and collapsed forward dazedly. Vikki stumbled back from the impact, tripping over her feet again and landing on her butt this time. She watched through the tears forming in her eyes as Nick punched the boy in the jaw and then shoved him off. Her attack with the crowbar had stunned him long enough for Nick to retaliate and gain the upper-hand. Too bad it left her feeling too sick to her stomach to appreciate that fact.

Fear, horror, nervousness, panic, anguish, hatred, exhaustion; a litany of emotions rolled through her. She felt every one of them. As justified as they were, Vikki found it hard to accept what she had just done.

What if…? What if she had…? _Did_ she? She hit him so hard…as hard as she could. Had she…killed him?

The crowbar fell from her hands and clattered loud against the deck. _Wha…? What have I…done? I…I had to save Nick but… I…didn't mean to… What if…what if I…? Oh God! WHAT HAVE I DONE!_

She stared blankly at Nick as he mounted the boy who'd attacked him. But she couldn't force herself to do anything else. She was too shaken over her actions. Instincts to protect someone she cared for had pushed her further than she wanted. Now she had to deal with the consequences of those actions and the guilt that accompanied them.

"Vikki!"

Her eyes fell back to the crowbar. On the surface, she knew that Nick was calling her. She wanted to respond, wanted to answer. But down deep, she was drowning in guilt; losing herself in the raw emotion caused by her hasty decision.

"Vikki?"

She didn't _want_ to ignore him. But it was just too hard to deal with. Him, her weight issues, the threat of death lingering over her head, what she'd been forced into doing only moments ago; it was all just too much to bear! She thought she was going to explode, go crazy. It felt like everything was coming undone, seam by seam. Her world was collapsing around her and there was nothing she could do about it.

"_Vikki! Snap the fuck out of it! I need you!_"

Loyalty and friendship compelled her to raise her eyes from the crowbar. Slowly, painfully, they traced a path back to Nick. He was now straddling the boy she'd attacked, pinning down those thick arms with his knees and leaning down with all of his weight to hold down his shoulders. Worry and pain filled his expression, accentuated by the nasty scrape on his cheek and discolored skin along his jaw. Lip busted and bleeding, he nudged his head back and to the right, saying, "I need you to go after Alisia! This dick was chasing after her with a machete! He was trying to kill her! Go find her!"

Vikki just stared at him vacantly. Alisia? Why…why would she help Alisia? She and Brenda, along with her stepsister Debra, made every day of her life at Diomatti a living hell! All three of them were complete and total bitches to anyone who didn't match up to their standards. Why the fuck would she want to help someone like _that_?

"_Vikki,_" Nick yelled, "stop feeling _sorry_ for yourself and get the fuck up! I _need_ you to do this! Please!"

The other boy was beginning to stir. She swallowed hard. How much longer would Nick be able to hold him down? They weren't evenly sized, that much she could see. The only way he had been brought down was because she and Nick had worked together. But that wasn't going to happen this time. With apprehension burning through her, there was no way she'd be able to hit him again with the crowbar. She just…couldn't.

Vikki would do just about anything for Nick other than attacking the boy for a second time. Even the idea of it felt…wrong…now. But helping Alisia Benetti? Was that really any better of an alternative, especially with the history they shared?

"Dammit Vikki," he hollered. "Pull yourself together and –"

"AL-ALRIGHT!" she screamed back. Frustration forced the word from her mouth, not anger. Frustration at what she knew she was agreeing to do. She would do what Nick asked of her but she wasn't going to enjoy doing it. Not when it involved Alisia Benetti.

Pushing up to her knees, Vikki rose unsteadily and took a few steps forward in the direction he had indicated. She risked a quick glance at him. He was about to throw another punch at the boy's bruised and bloody face. Turning away before he could land it, she moved off in a hurry.

The sound of flesh impacting flesh still touched her ears.

Every footstep she took from that moment on was full of reluctance. Alisia was the last person she wanted to risk her life for. Hell, she was the last person she wanted Nick to risk his life for. The girl simply wasn't worth the effort. That much had been proven when she tried to bribe that Omatsu woman and her soldiers. The stupid bitch really did think that money solved all problems.

That touched a raw nerve with her. Vikki learned that fact the hard way. Unlike Alisia and Brenda, she hadn't been born into her wealth. But once the money began to flow, she succumbed to the temptuous belief that money could get her whatever she wanted. Clothes? No problem. That pricey pair of shoes that she would've only been able to stare at through the store window before? Hers at the snap of a finger. Friends? Well, everyone had a price…you just had to know what it was.

After her mother's death, Vikki had given in completely. She reveled in what she could do, reveled in what she could get by flashing a little bit of money. Her world was painted green and she let everyone know that. She strolled around her town like a high-roller and didn't give the time of day to anyone she felt wasn't worth her time. Nothing could shatter her perfect world of excess.

Or so she had thought.

She shook her head lightly and refocused her attention on the unsavory task of finding Alisia. Remembering the way she was, how she had acted back then…it always tugged at a memory she didn't want to recall and the name that came along with it.

_Kaylee…_

A sudden scream made her jump. She quickly snapped her head left. So caught up in thoughts of the past, Vikki didn't realize that she had walked upon Alisia Benetti. Or rather, her hiding place. She wasn't too sure but it seemed like the girl had been cowering behind a line of generator casings. Not that she remained there, however.

Before she could even get a word out of her mouth, Alisia was up and dashing away; her frenetic screams and pleas echoing through the rising wind. Trying not to think of the trouble that Nick was in, Vikki pushed her aching legs into the best run she could manage. She felt her body groan in protest but ignored it.

Ahead of her, Alisia scrambled and scampered past housings of machinery, piping and any other object in her way. She slipped and fell twice, each time picking herself up with near-hysterical movements to resume her escape. All the while, Alisia kept looking over her shoulder and screaming 'she was sorry' and 'please don't kill me' like she didn't recognize who she was. That caught her off guard. Even though nothing but bad blood existed between them, there was no way that she _wouldn't_ know who she was.

A chill cut through her. Did Alisia think that she was coming after her to…to _kill_ her? Was the girl already that far gone? If her frenzied movements and panic-stricken pleas were anything to go by, Vikki feared that the answer was 'yes'.

Again disregarding the aching in her legs and sides, she pushed forward after Alisia. She was trying very hard not to think about Nick. Or the boy she'd hit with that crowbar. She couldn't afford the guilt right now, not with Alisia fleeing like Satan himself was after her. Whether she liked it or not, Vikki had to find a way to get through to the girl; to make her realize that she meant no harm despite her feelings to the contrary.

The quicker she managed to do so, the quicker she could get back to Nick. Guilt tickled her mind. He _had_ to be okay. Even though he had sent her to track down Alisia, she couldn't shake the feeling that she abandoned him. And that only added more strength to the guilt threatening to rip her apart.

Alisia suddenly came to a halt a few yards ahead. "N-no," she heard her stammer, followed by, "No! No! NO! NO!" Her screams became more and more terrified as she feverishly slapped the palms of her hands against the metal wall in front of her. Vikki slowed to a tired walk. If she weren't so worried or out of breath, she would've smiled.

The dark-haired girl spent so much time checking on whether or not she was catching up that she hadn't been paying attention to where she was going. Without even realizing it, Alisia succeeded in trapping herself in an alley of some sort. The timing couldn't be better. Because with the way her heart was pounding and how difficult it was for her to catch a breath, Vikki knew that there was no more chase left in her.

Taking a few more steps toward the panicked girl, Vikki stopped when she was confident that enough of Alisia's escape route was blocked. Sometimes, there were advantages to being fat. Bending at the waist slightly, she placed her hands on her hips and took more than a couple of slow, deep breaths. After the third or fourth, she raised her eyes to the brunette's back and called out, "A…Alisia."

She turned immediately, pressing back against the wall. Her dirty face was terrified. Nothing but fear burned in her eyes. Alisia jumped and fidgeted like skittish fawn who had wandered upon a camp full of humans. And Vikki knew right then and there that if the girl could find even the slimmest area of escape, she was going to run.

That meant she had to act fast.

"Alisia," she said again. There was no reaction. "C'mon, I know you recognize me. I promise, I…I'm not gonna hurt you." Alisia's eyes darted to the left and right of her, searching for a way out of the narrow, dead-ended alley. Vikki slowly raised her hands and took a cautious step forward. "Alisia," she repeated, watching the cringing girl for any sudden movements. "It's me…Vikki. Vikki Shaw. Look, I…I know we've got…issues…with each other, but I really _don't_ wanna hurt you. All I wanna do is help –"

"I…I know…"

Vikki was surprised to hear the quiet words. "You…know?"

"Y-yes."

"Then why the hell didn't you say anything?"

Alisia, eyes still terror-stricken and every movement made predicting her fleeing the minute she had an opening, slouched her shoulders and sunk to the ground. She pulled her greasy, filthy legs up to her chest and secured her arms around them. "B-because I know… I know that…you're going…to…to…" She didn't finish the last sentence. It was swallowed by the anguished crying that her voice faltered into. Vikki stopped advancing on the girl instantly.

_She _did_ think that! She really believed I was actually gonna kill her!_

"I… I…I know…you hate…me," Alisia managed a minute or two later between the occasional _hic_. "Th-that's why…I kept running…" Alisia's words trailed off as she raised a dirty hand to wipe at the tears falling from her eyes. "Running is…the only way…" she uttered, words quiet and solemn. "…The only way…to keep from…getting killed…" Her words trailed off again as Alisia broke down into another fit of sobbing. Even with the history that existed between them, Vikki felt her heart clench.

_This is what this 'game's' gonna do to us,_ the thought echoed in her mind. _It's gonna break us, tear us down until there's nothing left. By the time it's all over, whoever's still standing won't be the same way they were before coming here. That's for sure._ She couldn't pull her eyes from Alisia as the girl sat there and cried like a baby. _Hard to believe that she's the same bitch that's made my life a living hell ever since I –_

"Shit," she swore, remembering the reason she'd run after the girl in the first place. Was Nick still okay? There was no way for her to know. That meant she couldn't afford to be subtle anymore. "Alisia," Vikki said as she rushed into the alcove, "you've gotta come with me. Now! I was sent after you by Nick and he was fighting some boy –"

Alisia's head darted up, tear-slick eyes staring first at Vikki and then right past her. They grew wider and wider with each that passed. Vikki couldn't figure out what was going on until she heard the shuffling of feet behind her. She turned just as the dark-haired girl pushed up from the deck and launched past her, screaming, "NICK!"

Sure enough, it was him. He stumbled into the alcove, looking a bit more bruised and battered than when she had last saw him, but thankfully alive. A warmth of relief rushed through her. Somehow, he'd managed to beat off that other boy and make it here to find them. She should've had more faith in him.

She opened her mouth to say something and froze when she saw the dazed expression he wore. Was he hurt _that_ bad? His movements seemed stilted and odd. It only took Vikki another second or two to piece everything together. He wasn't stumbling because he was tired or hurt; he was stumbling because he was barely conscious! "Alisia!" she hollered. "_Alisia, run!_"

The warning came too late. Nick collapsed to the deck in a heap and Alisia stood unmoving, like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car. Whether it was because of Nick or the tall, menacing figure standing not even ten feet away, Vikki wasn't sure. There were only two things she _was_ sure of. The first, he was the same boy that she'd cracked across the back and shoulders with the crowbar to help Nick. And the second, that was Nick's gun in his right hand.

Fear burned away the relief she'd felt earlier as her eyes fell on her friend's prone body. Despite the fact that she had heard no noise to prove otherwise, no gunshots echoing through the air; Vikki truly expected to find Nick's back a bullet-riddled mess of torn flesh and exposed bone. When she found nothing but the dirt and grease-stained wrinkles of his flannel shirt, Vikki felt her knees finally give way. She fell to the deck in a mix of relief, exhaustion and terror.

To the contrary, Alisia hadn't moved an inch since Nick collapsed in front of her. There was no change in her position or posture. The only thing different from a few moments before was the puddle of liquid growing around the girl's bare feet. While she couldn't see Alisia's face, Vikki was certain that the fear on it was palpable.

Much like her own.

The boy leveled the gun then; dark, sweaty face grim and unreadable. The blood and bruising made him look even more menacing. There was no hesitation in his actions. From what she could tell, his hand wasn't even shaking.

He'd obviously made his decision. He was going to play this sick 'Game'. And he was playing it to win.

Unable to hold back the tears, they began to run freely down her face. The feeling of grim anticipation twisted her gut until Vikki thought she might vomit. What she'd feared all this time would happen, dying, was just a trigger pull away. And much like she figured it would, her weight had played a big part in it happening. Worse, it was going to lead to the death of two others – one a friend as close to her as a brother.

Her death, unfortunately, wasn't going to be guilt-free.

Vikki looked back at Nick and gave one final smile to the unconscious boy. She closed her eyes then, not wanting to see the bullets rip and tear into his or Alisia's body. There were a dozen different thoughts rushing through her head; a dozen different memories fighting for dominance. But one eclipsed all others. A single image – that of a freckled-face, honey-blond girl with a mischievous grin – filled her mind.

Vikki only had time to whisper, "I'm sorry," before the raucous, rapid-fire noise of projectiles being spit from the Nick's gun consumed her world.

* * *

**In the next chapter of**

_**1st**__**AMERICAN BLITZ**_

How does it feel to die? What is it that one sees as the Grim Reaper draws ever closer? What is it like to know that you are hovering on Death's doorstep? More importantly, how does one handle knowing that there's nothing that they can do to stop it; that the death itself is…inevitable?

Rob McKean faces those questions head-on as he slowly dies from a grievous injury rendered at the hands of Charlie Rae Dolan. Hovering between life and death, will he be rescued from the harrowing memories of a life filled with misery, hatred and betrayal? Or will the torments of an existence full of depravity, perversions and lies be the only comforts afforded him as he's dragged headlong into Hell?

**Coming soon, "Flashing Before Your Eyes",**

**Chapter 17**** of **_**1st**__**AMERICAN BLITZ**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Man, this was one rough chapter. I wasn't even sure that I'd be able to finish it. It wasn't that Vikki was a hard character to write or anything, it was just that it was hard to express on paper what was in my head. Even now, I don't quite know what to write here.

I apologize for how long this chapter took to realize. And I apologize if it seems to unravel near the end. Whether or not it reads like it, that was indeed the planned ending for this chapter. It was just a lot harder to get there than I thought it'd be.

But it is done and here it is for you to read. Hope you like it. Hope you can forgive the amount of time it took me to post it. Let's hope that the next chapter won't take quite as long.

As for character insights on Vikki Shaw, I like her. She's one of the more well-rounded (please excuse the bad pun) characters in the story so far. By that, I mean someone who has shown a glimpse of not just their past situations at school or dealing with friends/enemies; but also shares a bit of their backstory. I think only few others follow in that area.

It's just a shame that her journey had to come to an end so abruptly. I really would've loved to delve deeper into her character during the actually course of the story in real-time. But I guess, that'll just be handled in the _flashbacks_ and 'Life After Death Side Story' chapters now.

Three more down? Looks like Rob might be next. Well, I did promise deaths…

The end begins…

_Ciao!_

Terryll


End file.
